My Statue
by Elly Leaverton
Summary: Quatre bets Trowa can't make a poor homeless woman into a circus star. But who is she really? A circus story. Non-yoai. Completed.
1. The Bet

To: Alisa Grimm, staff writer  
Colony House Books, Inc  
From: T. T. Bloom, Producer  
The Greatest Show in the Universe  
Date: February 17, A.C.213  
Re: Biography

You were right, Ms. Grimm, to ask me to type out this story rather than simply tell it to you. I have no difficulty in telling stories of the Gundams and the Eve Wars. Those stories come from a time long ago and perhaps a person I'm not anymore. This story. Well, I couldn't even begin this story the other day. This one is about my feelings and who I am now, not some crazy fifteen-year-old. And it does need to go into my biography because without it I don't think the book would have closure.

Five years ago, I had just started my third year of producing the circus. A job I think I was born to do. I have a good mind for the business, and I can spot talent. Of course, it helps that I have been in the circus nearly all my life. More than that, I think my experiences during the war have given me a bitter-sweet understand of what people want out of a circus. The circus is both current and historical. It's for children of all ages because you went to it as a child, as a parent and as a grandparent. What it supplies, is that needed escape into a happier time. And that strikes a cord with me, I understand the need to escape from painful memories.

I am not a man who can create war anymore.

That year, my trapeze act was giving me trouble. They were arguably the best in the business and they knew it. They asked for an outrageous contract. I turned them down and was taking grief from it on all quarters. Even my sister Cathy disagreed with me. Maybe it was because I loved the circus that I hated to pander to greed. Sure, everyone deserved to make a decent wage, but shouldn't you be grateful just to be in the circus? To be part of the greatest show in the Universe? To wake up every morning and know you were going to create happiness that day? Money and contracts made me uncomfortable because suddenly the circus changed from 'We' to 'I'. How naïve I was!

Of course it was only my second time through contract negotiations then. Contracts are renewed every two years. My first time, I was the assistant to the old producer and he took the heat. I have a better understand of the workings of contracts now. On that second time, I was still letting it get too personal, too emotional, and much too stressful. So when Quatre asked me over to tour his pet project at the time, I jumped at the chance to get away. 

It was one of those canned rainy days on Colony L4 23976, when I arrived. Perhaps growing up on Earth has jaded me a little to the colonies. My show spends half its season on the Colonies now. It's hard not to compare the reality of the Earth to the man-made phenomena that is the Colonies. So artificial.

Maybe that's why the old families, like Quatre's, have developed difficulties. Quatre is a Winner, and the Winners have lived on the Colonies since the International Space Station. As a result all of them have difficulty reproducing. Quatre told me once that he and all twenty-nine of his sisters were born in test tubes. Quatre was smart though. All six of his wives are from Earth and they've made him a father sixteen times over.

The Winner family has always embraced polygamy. It's an Arabian custom, and Quatre is so true to custom he wouldn't even drink alcohol after the Eve War! The authorities used to just look the other way about polygamy, now they go so far as to encourage it. Quatre tells me it's very difficult to grow a male child in a test tube. It took 30 tries to get him. But mostly they encourage it because the Eve War killed off hundreds of Colony boys. Of course, perhaps it was a mistake to encourage the renewal the male population. After all, we did start most of the fighting, didn't we?

He only lives with five wives now though. His first wife, surprisingly, was Dorothy Catalonia, but she left him when he developed the unnerving tendency to consummate every successful business deal with a marriage contract. He tells me he warned her about his culture, but I don't think she actually believed him. 

Quatre is my best friend but I could never live as he does. Cathy was all the female busy-bodying I could stand, how he survived with five I'll never know. Besides, I just couldn't fathom having a wife that I didn't love. I would feel like I was stealing something from her. So there you have it--not all men want a harem.

Quatre didn't love his other wives. He admitted it to me once. Dorothy's the only woman for him. He refuses to grant her the divorce. Loves her too much. Poor guy. But, that's not the story you asked me for. If you want Quatre's story, buy his biographies. Or you could frequent the tabloids. They love to splash pictures of his love life all over the front page. 

You want to hear how I found her again. 

Well, it started that rainy day. Quatre met me at the door with his coat already in his hand. Since the war, Quatre had grown to about six foot three. I once had thought I would always look down on him but he topped me by two inches. Since marriage and the constant ministrations of five busybodies, his hair was shorter and he wore a mustache. I've seen pictures, and I'd say he looks very much like a blond version of his father.

I look like my father too. Very much so. So much that when I reached my majority it erased any doubt in the minds of Catherine Bloom and myself that I was, in fact, her long lost brother, Triton Bloom. I have tried to go by that name, unfortunately 'Trowa' is a hard name to exorcise. I took 'Triton Bloom' as my middle and last name and left it at that. 

"Trowa," Quatre exclaimed, sounding very much like he always sounds, "I'm so glad you came! We never get to see each other."

"Really Quatre, I was here on your birthday," I told him.

"Two months ago! I have news! I'm going to be a father again, and it's a boy this time!"

"Congratulations! Well now, finally you'll have a son by someone other than her." He knew who I meant.

"Well, that's not exactly true." He blushed.

"You mean she came back to you?" I couldn't believe it. Not Dorothy.

"We met to discuss our sons' visitation schedules and one thing lead to another..."

"You seduced her."

Quatre grinned then, male pride asserting itself over modesty. "Well, yes, I did. With her, it's always war, and I'm very good at war."

"Yes, you are. How are your other two sons?"

"Wonderful, busy at that aristocratic school she keeps them at."

"You'll see them more now?"

"No, nothing has changed really, other than my proving the fact that she still loves me, or at least can't resist me. I get cards from the boys every now and then. She tries to poison them against me, but they understand our customs. I wish I could see all of them more."

"It'll happen," I mumbled, not really convinced. From what I hear, Arabian polygamy is difficult to accept for a woman, especially one raised in a house of European nobility, and definitely for a woman like Dorothy. Although, according to custom, as first wife, she would rule the others. I could see Dorothy liking that. Who knows?

"Well, anyway, it's almost time for the rain to stop. Shall we go? I've just been dying to show you the new shelter." He bounded to the door, with the vigor he always displayed when helping others. "It's specific to the Eve Wars victims and veterans and they've come from all over. I've got the best physiologists money can buy, and the facility. Oh! Wait till you see it!"

Considering the many shelters, he's shown me over the years it's a wonder I remember this one at all. Perhaps I am turning sentimental, but I do remember it. It was made of slightly pinkish granite--a stone that was always near and dear to Quatre's heart. It was a three-story building with plenty of windows and light. I don't remember much about the interior, but I'm sure you can visit it so you can describe it in the book. I'll include the address. I do remember the kitchen and dining rooms though. Very clearly.

It was a broad open room with a tile floor in a star pattern. The tables were round and sat six people each. The kitchen was well designed with a large island in the center and a serving window into the dining room. The people the shelter was for were the typical types I've seen in every other war recovery facility, but perhaps a bit more destitute rather than crazy. To speak truthfully, I never liked being around them much. I felt responsible for their condition. Was any cause--no matter how noble, worth the scars left by a war? Would these people even exist if the five Gundams never existed?

We, of course, found ourselves helping to serve lunch. Quatre doesn't come to these shelters and stand idle.

"So?" he asked me over a large kettle of chicken noodle soup. He dished it out as we talked. 

I was on bread-detail complete with plastic gloves and tongs.

"You sounded a little stressed on the phone," he prompted again.

"Oh it's just the circus. Contract renewal troubles." I handed a roll to a young man who looked like a panhandler convert. 'Will work for money or booze'.

"Cathy wants more money?"

"Cathy's the easiest of the lot. She'd work for the same pay as the elephants if I asked her. No, it's my trapeze act."

"The Flying Panzinis? They're wonderful! What's the problem, I thought you'd give them anything they ask for?" He smiled at a scrawny woman. "Here you go."

I put a roll on her plate. "But I just can't afford what they want!"

"But I thought you had a good year last year."

"We did but the board wants me to keep the costs down in case we have a bad year. They are penny pinchers, but what can I do? I've tried to explain. So now I have striking trapeze artists and a whole circus that's mad at me. The board doesn't have to deal with that do they?"

"Whose final decision is it?"

"Mine"

"Then sign the contract."

"It's not that simple, Quatre." I was upset. I wanted him to back me up, not tell me to give in. He should've understood, he's a businessman, one of the best. "They're just popular, that's all. Why I could train one of these victims here to be as good at trapeze as they are. What if they aren't as popular this year and we lose money?" Of course I didn't really mean it, we needed the Panzinis they were nearly as essential as Cathrine. But it felt good to vent and Quatre had always been the perfect listener.

"I bet you couldn't." He smiled that aggravating smile at me. If I'd had Heavyarms at that moment, I would've open the chest cannons and let him have it!

"Couldn't what?" I felt my face grow hot.

"Couldn't train one of these victims to be a trapeze artist."

"Yes I could." I snapped. "As long as they were under forty, not on drugs or overweight."

He laughed at me. I knew it was a stupid thing to say. I knew I couldn't do it really, but I'd already said it and I didn't feel like taking it back. I had been compromising enough at work lately and now with my friend I wasn't about to back down.

"This is too much!" Quatre still wore that aggravating smile but now it had a touch of devilish delight in it. "Trowa is giving me a chance to prove him wrong!"

"Quatre, can we just drop it? I was just making a point."

"Oh no my dear friend, you can not do it, and you know it."

Why wasn't he listening to me? Why wasn't he backing me up? I was angry. This was not the distraction I came for. I'd wanted to escape my problems not dwell on them. "I have been in the circus business almost all my life Quatre, you think I can't train someone else?"

"I'll make a bet with you. You prove your boast, and I'll fund that new shuttle you've been wanting my company to sponsor."

"Fine!"

"But if you fail, you sign the contract."

"I won't fail." 

"And it has to be one of these victims just like you boasted."

"Only..."

"Right, young, normal weight and no addictions." 

We shook on it. 

"Okay...." He scanned the room. "That narrows it down to three, sad to say. Thomas, a bomber during the war, deaf, here to learn sign language." He pointed out the man to me.

The man was short and stocky. "No," I said. What had I let Quatre do to me? I was sorry for this situation but completely unable to get myself out of it. My pride hurts sometimes. Even worse, as I looked at this first candidate, I realized I was shortly going to have to admit my defeat!

"Then, Claudia there, missing her left leg from the knee down. Recent victim of an unexploded mine field. Here for physical therapy."

One leg! I was doomed--I was almost afraid to ask. "And the third."

"Our mute. Missy. Just got here from being homeless on Earth. She was in an orphanage until she turned eighteen, has been a wanderer ever since. We haven't even started on her yet." He smiled smugly at me.

"Her name is Missy?" I asked

"Yes, no one knew her real name so they called her Miss and then Missy, and she seems to answer to it."

"She's mental?"

"Most likely." He thought he had me.

"But she has all her fingers and toes." 

"Take my advice, Trowa. Give up. I got you. Sign the damn contract."

"No, which one is she?"

"She's there, by the window, at that table by herself." He pointed her out. 

I put down my bread tongs and headed for the table. She was a slight slip of a woman. Skin and bones. Her hair was matted, dull and messy. She wore layers of clothing like most homeless wanderers do. She was under forty, probably about my age. I evaluated her like a racehorse. Long arms, long legs, blond, straight teeth. I could make a performer out of this dust mop. That is, if she'd agree, and if she wasn't crazy.

"May I join you?" 

She didn't respond. She had two bowls in front of her, and she was still working on the third. She spooned it quickly like someone might take it from her or kick her out. There was desperation about her that one only feels when walking by that begging homeless person on the street. That feeling that makes you look away and clench your teeth as you grasp tightly to your indifference. As if you could, by ignoring it, ensure that it would never happen to you. 

I sat down scraping the chair on the tiles as I did. She looked up then and watched me.

"I would like to train you." All of a sudden I felt really stupid. She still watched me with no change in expression. "Quatre tells me people come here to get their feet back on the ground. I'd like to help and I think I could train you to be a member of my circus."

She said nothing.

"Look, you'd get a usable skill, three square meals a day and a stipend for necessaries, and if you complete the training, a job. Are you interested?"

She blinked slowly, but did nothing.

"I'm sorry, I realize you are not much of a talker. I understand, believe me. You don't have to say anything, just," I held out my hand, "give me your hand." 

At my final words, she started in surprise and instantly her hand was in mine. Her hand was dirty with years of grime under her nails and she held on to my hand as if her life depended on it.

"Good." I didn't know what else to say. "Good."

She looked up into my eyes, and I saw something there that made me much more comfortable. An intelligence. An understanding. I knew she was not crazy. Messed up, sure. A victim, no doubt. But not crazy.

I led her away from the table and back to Quatre, who, by this time, had left his post in the kitchen to watch me with concern.

"She agrees." I told him.

"Does she?" he asked, then turned to Missy. "Do you understand Missy? He's going to train you to be in a circus. Do you want that?"

She was staring at my hand, which she had in a tight grip. Slowly she nodded and mumbled. The only words I could hear were "Thank you".

"So you do talk?" I asked.

"That's the first time I've ever heard her talk." Quatre looked at me with a question in his eyes. Then he shook his head. "Trowa this is stupid. I tricked you. I knew there was no one suitable. You can't do this. Just sign the contract."

"No. Besides, she wants to go, and I think you're wrong about her...." I tapped my head.

Quatre sighed. "You really are on the edge today, my friend."

He had no idea.

I enlisted my sister immediately. I couldn't clean this woman up alone. I said nothing, but Cathy has a way of defining reality. I let her believe I was helping this homeless woman for Quatre. On the bright side, it totally erased the trapeze artists from her mind and things were back to normal between us. As I mentioned before, she agreed with Quatre and everyone else--that I should sign the contract.

"So what job are we going to train her for?" Cathy asked on the way to a spa. She had her arm around Missy, totally indifferent to the dirty clothes. That's Cathy.

"We'll see." I didn't want to tell her more.

"Oh this is so great Trowa! And it gives us something to do during Winter Quarters! I knew that trip to the shelter would do you good! And how noble of you to want to help like this!"

"Yes," I agreed. Perhaps one would call it lying, but I didn't want to do this alone. My pride had already gotten me into enough trouble.

Cathy was a wizard at the spa. She had them do everything, manicure, pedicure, and something which sounded absolutely dreadful and involved wax. Her hair was matted beyond repair, so it was cut off. Down to two or three inches from her head. Cathy went out and found a running suit for her, which I paid for. So after about three hours, we got back a very clean, shorn, walking skeleton. But Cathy was happy with it, and I seemed to detect a slight smile on Missy's face as well. She mumbled a "thank you" at me again.

"Food, Trowa." Cathy walked a circle about Missy. Missy had all the classic signs of malnutrition: dull lackluster hair, pale complexion, dark circles under her eyes, and, of course, no fat and very little muscle. "She can't be trained to do anything without some muscle."

"Right. This way."

Cathy again threw her arm about Missy and we walked to the next-door restaurant. A quiet spot, with more coffee customers than anything, but they served lunch. 

As we sat down, Cathy announced, "I will be ordering for Missy. She doesn't know what kind of food she'll need to do circus work. High carbs I think, to start, and protein."

"Going to fatten her up?" I asked.

"She needs muscle Trowa, and lots of it."

"As you wish." There was no arguing with Cathy, besides, I wasn't up to the task that day.

"So, Missy, you're going to have to tell us about yourself." Cathy started right after ordering. Missy looked distressed and mumbled. I had to intervene. 

"Cathy, Missy has led a very troubled life. I'm sure she doesn't want to talk about it. Why don't you tell her about the life she's going to lead from now on?"

"Oh the circus life! Of course, how silly of me! Of course she wants to hear about the future!"

Missy was a good listener and she could mumble "uh-huh" with the best of them. That's all the input Cathy ever needs to talk as I myself can attest to.

Cathy was circus from birth and it was her favorite subject. She launched into a serious bout of 'Jackpotting', which is circus lingo for telling circus stories, circus shoptalk, and circus gossip. 

"...And when we first arrive at a town or colony we have to do the animal walk. The spaceports and the stadiums are never close to each other. Neither are the train stations and the stadiums on Earth. Have you been to Earth? But the animal walks are pretty fun. A lot like a parade with people watching them walk by on either side of the road."

I watched Missy while Cathy talked to her. What had I got myself into? Now that I could see her body, without those layers of homeless clothes, I could tell that with a little muscle she could do it. It gave me some comfort. But there was still something...I don't know...empty, almost ghostlike in those blue eyes. Was it possible for a victim of horror to be human again? Would I have to train her mind as well as her body?

I lived through war, but not like a victim did. I was safe in my little cockpit, wreaking destruction but not part of it. Not in the way she was anyway. I tried to understand what it was like for those people who had no control of the war. All the reasons in the world to fight fall flat in the face of some poor civilian who suffered because of a choice I made. I pushed those thoughts away, I was not that boy anymore. I was not the pilot of Heavyarms. He was as dead, and as nameless as I could make him. If I tried to suffer vicariously for all of the victims of that boy now, I'd go insane. 

The circus had another 'six-pack' weekend before boarding the shuttles to Winter Quarters on Earth. A 'six-pack' is a circus term referring to two days in a row with three performances each: 11am, 4pm and 7pm. It was always a push, and you tended to be spent by the end of it. 

That six-pack was a particularly grueling one, because it was the last six shows of the season-with all that that entails. Performers get very sentimental and the digital recording devices come out in droves. It's a hard time because some of these people and acts will not be returning next season. Everyone would be so emotional. And of course there is the end-of-the-season party, which I would be required to attend. I don't do well at parties, even with people I know very well. I was not looking forward to it.

To top it all off, we would still have to strike and to do the animal walk back to the spaceport right after the party on Sunday. 

Cathy and I settled Missy in our suite of rooms at the hotel. One of the perks of doing the Colony circuit was the accommodations. On Earth, the circus members stayed in their rooms on the train. That wasn't practical for Colony shows though. Most spaceports don't allow people to stay in the shuttles. Besides, since the spaceports are located close to the center of the colony, the gravity there is very poor. It would be next to impossible to sleep there.

With Missy so close to us, Cathy could monitor her food. She also got her up to join the circus in its morning calisthenics at the stadium. I did them too, like I always do. But they were much more of a chore then, because people were still upset with me. I was glad, as they say, that looks couldn't kill. 

I distracted myself by watching Missy, who did whatever Cathy told her to do without question. She watched Cathy like one of her many fans: open adoration. And she would've exercised that Friday until she collapsed, just following Cathy. But I saw her shaking. She didn't yet have the muscle or endurance to keep up with the circus performers.

I let her go just a little longer until I saw her legs start to shake, and then I intervened.

"Missy, come sit down. You've done enough for today," I told her.

She ignored me, still watching Cathy.

"Come Missy, give me your hand." I wondered at the time what made her start and instantly grab my hand. But that thought was quickly erased by the immediate need to get her to a chair before she collapsed and get her a protein drink.

I remember being very pleased at both her attachment to Cathy and her determination to keep up. I felt more confident about being able to train her. Determination and dedication beats out natural talent any day. Just try it. You'll see what I mean.

I knelt before her, one hand on the cup, the other on her shoulder. It was a very bony shoulder. I had to steady the cup to help her drink. She'd really pushed herself. "Missy, don't worry. You'll do fine. A few more days of good food and you'll be able to keep up." 

What was a person with this much determination doing being homeless anyway? I didn't understand it. But I also, didn't know anything about her. Quatre had said she was a wanderer. Maybe she never begged? Maybe she worked? Or maybe we were supplying some need that brought the determination out of her?

She mumbled something, but this time it was so soft and shaky that I couldn't make out anything. I didn't worry about it and assumed it was just another thanks.

"These next two days, I'd like you to exercise as much as you can. Eat, of course, and watch all six shows."

Her cup was down by half so she could no longer spill it with her shaking. I let it go. But I watched her finish the cup. Her shaking slowed, and I was glad.

"Be sure and pick a different seat for every show. We are a three ring circus after all." It's funny how much you talk when faced with a silent person. I'd always noticed it from the other side of the table before. And now, faced with a person more quiet than myself, I noticed I was talking a lot more than normal. 

"And if you want to watch Cathy, the best seats are near that ring. Ring Three." I pointed to the far ring, which was empty save for the bars, wires and ropes suspended over it. She paid attention to where I pointed. Definitely a Cathy fan. 

Of course, I performed in that ring too. Three times during that year's show in fact. As knife target, lion rider and pole climber. Well, the pole wasn't in the ring, but it was near it, and very close to the audience. It was a stunt done by one of my heroes of the circus past: Bello the clown. I've recreated several of his historical greats over the years, but the pole climbing one remains my favorite.

If she sat near that ring, I could watch her too. I could see her reactions and judge if she even liked the circus. I would have to let her go if she didn't and return to fetch that deaf bomber. Something I hoped wouldn't happen. It couldn't happen. I would win or lose my bet with this woman, and I knew it.

I don't know exactly what sort of reaction I was expecting to see. I'm not sure if I would've been happy to see her gasping and cheering with the rest of the crowd. She sat perfectly still and watched us all very intently. She seemed to be doing something with her hands as she watched. But I couldn't tell what it was.

It was Cathy who figured it out. And back stage she told me.

"Missy is mimicking our hands, did you see? I watched her when the trapeze artists were on and when you were pole climbing. Every time you closed your hands she closed her hands. Do you know what this means Trowa?" 

I did, but I let her tell me.

"She's deconstructing the moves! She wants to do what we do. Oh! You couldn't have picked a better person to help! We are just the people she needs to draw her out of her shell. How did you know?"

I shrugged, but I thought to myself, 'Quatre knew'. 

"Sometimes I don't doubt why you are the producer. Now if you would only sign that contract..."

I walked away.

Look at the time! I hardly can believe I have been writing to you for over six hours, Ms Grimm! I will have to continue this in the morning.

Yours Truly,

T.T. Bloom

_"She's so deliciously low. So horribly dirty." Prof. Henry Higgins.  
"I ain't dirty! I washed my face and hands before I come, I did." Elisa Doolittle_


	2. Winter Quarters

To: Alisa Grimm, staff writer  
Colony House Books, Inc  
From: T. T. Bloom, Producer  
The Greatest Show in the Universe  
Date: February 17, A.C.213  
Re: Biography

I don't know why, but I was up early this morning, this story, once started, has taken over my thoughts to the extent that I have to keep writing it. The memories bombard me like an enemy attack and my only defense is to commit them to paper, Ms Grimm. This is the format for me, no talking, just typing! I can carefully pick and choose my words, without worries. I reread over the chapter I sent you last night, and there are a hundred things in it that I would like to change, edit or take back, but you are the author not me. I leave it to your expertise. 

The end-of-the-season party was thankfully uneventful. Cathy and I decided that Missy would be out of place, so we did not bring her. She did, however, walk beside Cathy for the entire Animal Walk to the spaceport. She seemed in awe of the elephants, as most people new to the circus are.

When we reached the Winter Quarters, the other show had just left town. The company runs four shows including the one I produce. Each show's performance group uses the Winter Quarters for three months out of the year, letting the animals rest and planning acts for the next season. Of course, since the place was in use year-round, it couldn't be winter for everyone. We got it in the fall, but we still called it Winter Quarters, sort of like actors still calling the waiting room next to the theater the Green Room even though plants are never kept there any more. We performers have strange customs.

One of the things I like about Winter Quarters is the entrance. There are several statues commemorating historical Circus performers, my favorite being the statue of Bello riding his famous elephant, Beau. They are right before the door opposite another famous pair: Charles Stratton, the 42-inch-tall midget promoted by P.T. Barnum as 'General Tom Thumb', and Jumbo. Although, Jumbo and Tom Thumb never performed together, they are still part of circus history.

I wonder if P.T. Barnum ever had to deal with greedy trapeze artists and a sister who constantly nagged him about the way he chose to handle things? No, I think he had a nagging wife, not a sister. P.T. and Charity Barnum were known for not getting along. 

But Missy kept Cathy pretty distracted and generally happy with me. I was still the heroic brother helping a victim find her place. Missy was not immune to the wonder of Winter Quarters. It houses amazing vehicles, huge workshops, rooms upon rooms of costumes and probably one of the best circus training centers in the world. It was a joy to show her around and watch her try to look at everything at once. And I found myself showing off one or two times, when she looked at something with a quizzical 'how-does-this-work' look.

"You show off," Cathy called me when I showed Missy how the motorcycle on the tight rope worked--complete with a dazzling handle bar stand.

"Really?" I asked, "Care to show her how this part works?" I snapped the cage to the bottom of the motorcycle.

Without a thought to the hypocrisy of it, Cathy said, "Okay!" and we were off. See that's how you handle Cathy. Include her.

At Winter Quarters, we all live in a dormitory. I think they built it that way to bring the performers together. It was a three-story building. Men on the first floor. Women on the second. Families had suites on the top floor. Cathy and I qualified as a family, and of course, the decision of who sleeps where was the producer's decision. I assigned us a three-bedroom suite with a kitchen so we could keep Missy with us. Well, Cathy insisted on it. She told me it was ridiculous to have a person in her distressed condition sleeping alone with a bunch of strangers. 

But I would've done it anyway.

Neither Cathy nor I said anything out loud but the more we got to know Missy, we had to wonder what had happened to her to make her end up in this way. From what I discovered about her in that first week, her willingness to learn and easy acceptance of hard work just didn't add up. I couldn't understand why someone like that would still be a wandering supposedly crazy person so long after the Eve Wars. 

But I did know that she trusted us and I had to make sure that she felt secure, protected, so there was never really a question of where Missy would stay. I also knew Cathy wouldn't fail to make the decision, she's always been one to take in strays, I should know, she took me in too back during the war. But I've already told you that story already, haven't I?

After about a week of trying every morning, Missy finally made it through morning calisthenics without stopping. Cathy and I focused on her to the exclusion of our own training. Besides, it no longer took us three months to prepare for a new show. I didn't obviously direct her training towards trapeze, but rather picked crossover stunts to teach her. Most of it was high wire training, of which I am an expert. Of course the training wire is only a foot off the ground. Who knew, and who could ask her if she was afraid of heights?

Cathy said I was jumping the gun and we had to start smaller. Half the time I let Cathy have her way. I still had a business to run. Cathy taught her juggling, and dancing that first week. It was hard for me to keep at my paperwork though, and I often found myself standing in the doorway watching my bossy sister and her quiet mimic. 

Missy had grace. Cathy didn't need to teach her that. I supposed I'd never seen Missy ever move in a jerky manner. She was always soft, gentle and quiet. All things that translated into grace on the dance floor quite well.

Her timing needed work, and she couldn't keep up with Cathy. Especially after attempting to do morning calisthenics. She was forced to take breaks often. And she looked horrible in the tights and leotard. You could see every bone in her body. She made my sister look plump!

Cathy bought a few 'eating disorder' books to guide her in making sure Missy ate the right things. Books with titles like "A Hunger So Wide and So Deep" or "The Invisible Woman" or "It's Not About Food". If it were up to me, I'd just make sure she got an extra helping or two at meals. But women's minds are set up differently--for Cathy self-help books were the norm. Ever notice the majority of self-help books are aimed at women? What was the big deal anyway? She just needed to eat regularly. 

The whole cast and crew started feeding her extra food, I noticed. Little cookies and sandwiches left over from other people's boxes just appeared next to her as she ate. When she went back to her water bottle during dancing or high wire breaks, she'd find granola bars next to it. I guess I wasn't the only one who didn't like being able to count her ribs.

Cathy also started a rather ingenious campaign to get Missy to talk out loud. Gossip. Cathy figured that because she herself couldn't resist it, no one else could either. So she and a group of her cronies started jackpotting all the circus gossip to Missy. 

"You're what?" I asked when she told me.

"And it's working too. She especially pays attention when we talk about Anna and Dale." Cathy looked so smug.

"The dancer and the roadie?"

"Yes, they've been having an on-again off-again relationship since the performance at 125477! But I know for a fact that Carry told me Gwen said she saw him at the jewelry store last Friday. Or was it Saturday? Anyway, Rebecca said Anna said they were going out to dinner on Tuesday! We all think he's going to propose!"

I think if I rolled my eyes once during that speech, I rolled them a dozen times. "And this will get Missy to talk?"

"Yes! Wait and see!" Cathy is so strange sometimes.

On Wednesday after the fateful date between Anna and Dale, I took Missy up for tight rope walking training after morning calisthenics. We were right in the middle of practicing a back handstand. I was spotting on her left with arms loosely hovering at her waist. We'd tried this for the past two hours with no success, but Missy just got more and more determined. This time she flipped back into the handstand slowly, lifting her legs up one at a time and froze. Suddenly, there she was, standing perfectly balanced on her hands.

I was shocked. The perfect handstand on a wire is really hard to learn.

"Great! Missy, how long can you hold that?" I dropped my hands and stepped away.

But she wasn't paying attention to her miraculous handstand or me. She was watching Cathy whispering in the corner with her gossip hens. Slowly, her feet came down on the other side. First one, then the other. A perfectly executed handstand dismount. I couldn't do it that well, but then I wasn't as light as a skeleton either. 

Her eyes never left the group of women, though. 

"What's up?" I asked.

Slowly she stepped down and wandered in Cathy's direction.

I followed, and I saw Cathy's eyes dart to Missy and back to the girls. She whispered something and everyone stopped talking.

"Missy, are you taking a break?" she called. "You should eat something. Gwen, get her a granola bar would you?"

Missy stopped in front of the group of girls who seamed to be evaporating before her eyes. Gwen and Cathy returned pressing water and a food on Missy. I couldn't fathom what was going on because I'm a man and by this time I'd forgotten about Cathy's ridiculous plot.

"She did a perfect handstand." I announced.

I could hear Missy mumbling.

"Did she?" Cathy gushed. "Oh that's so great Missy! You've got to show us!" She grabbed Missy's hand and dragged her toward the practice rope.

Missy dug in her heels, I could still hear mumbling only a little louder.

"I think she's trying to tell you something," Gwen said.

"Oh she's just saying thank you for the water. Come on Missy, come show us the handstand." Cathy had that I'm-up-to-something look and that's when I remembered the gossip plot. Call me dense.

Cathy tugged at Missy, who was easy to pull along being so light. The mumbling continued and I started to think Cathy was being cruel.

"Come on!" babbled Cathy. "This is so great a handsta..."

"Stop!" It was clear, loud and a little squeaky, but it was definitely the first clear word I'd ever heard from Missy.

Gwen, Cathy and I stared at Missy. We couldn't help it.

"Um...why?" Cathy asked, acting stupid, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

Missy looked surprised at herself. She cleared her throat, touched her neck and hummed. She looked up as if shocked that her voice worked. "Cathy," she said.

"Yes, why should we stop?" Cathy prompted.

"B-Because I-I want to hear about Anna and Dale."

Well you could've knocked me over with a feather. The damn gossip plot worked. Cathy grinned and hugged Missy. Then so did Gwen. Within seconds, the gossipers poured out of nowhere and Missy was engulfed in girls all vying to be the first to tell her about Anna's engagement. 

I don't understand women at all. Thank goodness they understand each other.

They began to pepper her with questions. Who was she? What was her real name? Where was she from? 

Missy was overwhelmed and looked terrified. I waded in to pull Missy out. The vultures.

"Back off you guys," said Cathy, "You don't want to swamp the poor girl. She just remembered how to speak!" Cathy followed me as I drug Missy away. "You all go back to rehearsal!" Then in a stage whisper. "I'll tell you all later."

The girls reluctantly left. When they were gone I realized I had Missy tucked protectively under my arm. I let her go. 

Cathy whirled around on us and announced: "Coffee! Come you two!"

We retired to the producer's office, which was mine during the fall. 

Missy said nothing as Cathy bustled around getting coffee. We sat on the office couch. 

"You don't have to talk to her you know," I whispered to her.

"It's alright," she said.

I was glad, because I really hoped she'd talk.

"So," Cathy said, sitting a cup of coffee in front of Missy and me. Picking up her own, she settled into a nearby easy chair. "What is your real name?"

"I-I don't remember anything other than Missy." Even now that we could hear her, she was soft spoken. 

"Do you remember where you are from?" Cathy asked.

"No," Missy looked at me apologetically.

I patted her arm. I'd been there too, once upon a time. "It's okay."

"What do you remember?" Cathy barreled on.

"I remember the shelter. You," she looked at me, "taking me away. Before that, it seems like a dream--fuzzy--images."

"Images of the war?" Cathy prompted.

"No, of places, things, coldness, emptiness. I'm sorry, that's all there is." She looked distressed.

"Well, don't worry about it. I'm sure it will come in time." Cathy announced. "What Trowa and I really want to know is do you want to stay with us?"

My heart caught in my throat.

"With the circus I mean?" Cathy amended.

"Oh yes!" Missy replied quickly.

Cathy and I relaxed.

Missy looked back and forth between us.

"We thought we might be forcing this on you," I explained.

Cathy nodded.

Missy smiled. "You've both been wonderful. You woke me up."

From what, I wondered? 

Two days after the surprising success of the gossip plan, my sister and I woke to the smell of bacon and eggs. We both wandered out in our robes to find Missy cooking in the kitchen of the suite.

"What's this?" I asked.

Missy looked over to see us two bedraggled Blooms staring at her.

I looked at Cathy. "When did you teach her to cook?"

"She didn't." Missy turned on the coffee maker. "I got up early because I couldn't sleep. I wondered if I knew how to cook breakfast, and I took out the eggs and I just started cooking." She smiled at us. "So I guess I do know how."

"Well it smells wonderful." I didn't know what else to say.

"Has it jogged any other memories for you?" Cathy asked. Why didn't I think of that?

"Well, I think I know how to cook meatloaf too," Missy said.

"Well, that's something anyway!" Cathy said, "I'll set the table."

A few days after that, Quatre came to visit. Or rather, to check up on Missy and me.

"And she doesn't remember anything?" he asked me over a cup of tea in the producer's office.

"That's what she said, and we haven't pressed her."

"Of course you haven't Mister Talkative, but I was counting on Cathy." Quatre's eyes twinkled.

"Cathy and Missy are friends. Cathy is sensitive to Missy's needs I think."

"Even though she's a bet?"

I said nothing.

"Ah, I see you haven't told her. That's a mistake."

All of a sudden I felt very guilty. Until Quatre showed up, I don't think I thought of the bet much, just wanted Missy to do well for Missy's sake. When he was here to remind me, I saw myself as I truly was--a cad who was just using her.

"About the bet..." I started, but we were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in." I called.

It was Mister Panzini of the Flying Panzinis. He had a contract in his hand. 

"I'm sorry Quatre, I must deal with this," I said as Mister Panzini handed me the contract. I started to read. Mister Panzini fiddled with his hat.

"Um, should I leave?" Quatre asked after a minute or two.

"No," I told him, then I looked up at Mister Panzini. "Yes, this is a contract I can sign."

"Thank you, Mr. Bloom." Mister Panzini looked relieved. 

I signed all three copies of the contract. Then watched as he signed it. I looked over at Quatre. 

Quatre raised his eyebrows and toasted me with his teacup.

"Mister Panzini, there is something I'd like you to do for me," I announced.

"Yes, Mr. Bloom?" He froze mid-signature, looking scared.

"The war victim, Missy, do you know of her?"

"Yes, Mr. Bloom, I have seen your Missy."

"I would like you to help me train her as a trapeze artist." I watched Quatre's face; he looked quizzical.

"If we succeed." I continued, "I will sign this contract." I held up the other contract from my desk.

"Mr. Bloom, my family is at your service" 

"You realize," Quatre said when Mister Panzini had left, "that now you must sign that contract whether or not she becomes a trapeze artist?"

"Yes, I realize that. But now I have the whole circus with me. Missy will succeed now, and I can tell the board the contract was a condition of your donating the cost of the new shuttle. They'll like that."

"Hmmm..." Quatre smiled at me. "When did Missy become more important than your pride?"

I couldn't believe he'd missed the point entirely!

The downside of the new training arrangement was the Panzinis really didn't need my help. I stood around for a few days watching and encouraging until it seemed to me that Missy got along with them well. She was nervous at first, and I think a little star-struck. 

After that, I was free to rehearse my own show for next season. Since I'd been on the high wire for half of the Winter Quarters, Cathy and I decided to take our knife act up. We incorporated some comedy and had some of the performers giggling as she chased me up and down the wires with her knives.

Couldn't get rid of the pole act, because it was always a huge favorite, but I did add some different clowning to it. Finally, we brought the motorcycle act back. Playing around with it for Missy sort of piqued our interest in it again.

Missy continued to cook us breakfast, and both Cathy and I enjoyed the time with her. Our breakfast table conversations were starting to resemble the classic family dinners you see on television. Of course we didn't talk much at dinner, all of us being exhausted from the long day of training, especially Missy. We ate quickly and did a face plant into our pillows. So breakfast was our only good conversation time.

"How come you like Bello so much," Missy asked me one morning.

"Hmmm? Bello? Well he sort of brought out the clown in me." I looked up at a poster of him I'd put up in the suite.

"Brought out your clown?"

"Well, yes, when I first started I was a very serious clown."

Cathy sorted and nodded over a mouthful of bacon.

"I was using the circus as a cover while I fought in the Eve War."

"You were a fighter?" Missy was surprised by the news. I found I liked being thought of as a circus man first not a soldier. 

I spooned some eggs. "Yes, a mobile suit pilot."

"When he came to the circus, the boss took one look at him and his funny hair and declared him a clown," added Cathy.

"It wasn't funny," I said, "it was cool then."

"It was funny." Cathy winked at Missy who smiled back.

"Well it was shorter and closer to my face, and I did wear the style twenty-four seven." I knew it was funny, but I wasn't going to admit to my childhood follies. Not to my sister anyway.

"It's so much better to see both your eyes now. When you're off stage that is." Cathy grinned, referring to the fact that I kept my very long bangs back in a ponytail and hairspray free, when off stage. 

"Well, anyway, the boss called me in after my fourth year with the circus. He told me I was great at stunts and perfect for Cathy's act, but as a clown, I sucked."

Cathy giggled. "That sounds like him."

"But he told me he could see my potential and he thought I could be the next Bello the Clown. And when he found out I didn't know about Bello, he gave me about a dozen old DVDs of Bello's circus acts."

"And you liked them?" Missy asked.

"Well, not at first. I was a teenager and thought I knew everything. When I first watched that guy with the funny hair, I thought:no way am I doing that!"

"But Bello grew on you." Cathy smiled at me.

"Yes, for some reason I watched the DVDs again, maybe to point out to the boss why I couldn't do it. Then I watched them again, noting his acts, his face and his clowning. And somewhere along the line, the notes I was taking stopped being reasons why I couldn't do it but plans how I could do it."

"That fifth year, your act was the biggest hit, too," said Cathy. "All you needed was to stop taking yourself so seriously."

"I still take things seriously, but not on stage. I'm a different person on stage." I went back to eating my bacon. 

"I thought Bello was why you chose a funny hair style?" Missy asked. Bello, you see, had foot long hair, which he hair sprayed straight up at a peak in the front, sloping back. Sort of like a marker felt. I think they even marketed a Bello pen once. 'Write with Bello's hair.'

"Well, he was the reason it got longer and funnier," I told her.

"The mighty uni-bang!" Cathy announced.

"Watch it, or I'll whack you with it."

They both laughed. I can't think of a happier morning.

I must stop, Ms Grimm, as it is time to start the day, but I promise to send you the next part this evening when I get back from the 7 o'clock show. Judging from how reluctantly I'm leaving my computer, I'm sure I'll have this whole story to you in the next few days. I'm finding it very difficult to stop writing. 

Yours truly,

T.T. Bloom

_"Isn't it rich, aren't we a pair_

Me here at last on the ground - and you in mid-air

Send in the clowns" --A Little Night Music


	3. What People Think

To: Alisa Grimm, staff writer  
Colony House Books, Inc   
From: T. T. Bloom, Producer  
The Greatest Show in the Universe  
Date: February 18, A.C.213  
Re: Biography

Well, the writing bug has bitten me. I was very distracted today at work. I spent the whole time thinking about what I would type next and what words I would use. I even checked a few facts with Cathy. I can see now why you writers enjoy writing Ms. Grimm.

I vividly recall one other thing irritating me about Missy's training with the Panzinis. Jack Panzini. He was tall, young, and well built. He lifted, swung and grabbed Missy way too much for me.

"What's up with you?" shouted Cathy over the roar of the motorcycle.

I looked down at her cage swinging beneath me. I cut the engine.

"We were supposed to go backward with you in a handstand, but you repeated the last move!" Cathy glared at me.

"Sorry, lets start again." I said, trying not to watch Missy and Jack.

"I'm not doing anything with you when you are so distracted. What's bothering you?" 

"It's nothing," I said.

But she instinctively followed my gaze. She looked at Missy. "Is there something wrong with Missy."

"No...yes...no, not really."

"Trowa..."

"It's just Jack Panzini, don't you think he's pawing her a little too much?"

Cathy humored me by pausing and looking back at the trapeze group. "It's just the swan toss. He does that with his sister all the time. Same move."

"Missy is not his sister. And I think..." I had to stop, Cathy was laughing at me. "What?"

"Well, you do realize that Jack Panzini is gay, don't you?"

Irrationally, I felt better, and clueless. "He is? But he doesn't...you know..."

"Swish?"

"Yeah"

"Really, Trowa, not all gay men swish. Half our male dancers are gay and they still write their names in the snow with urine." She grinned up at me. "So can we rehearse now please? Now that you know Jack isn't stealing your girl?"

I was shocked. "She's not my girl! I'm her trainer, it's my job to look out for her!"

"Sure." She grinned smugly. I hate having a sister sometimes. Especially when she misses the point entirely!

And she started to plot against me after that. What I mean is she became my self-appointed matchmaker. It became obvious when a few days later, she started in on me again about those Friday nights at the local roadhouse. Cathy and her crowd loved to go dancing there. Big crowd. Too much noise. Too much talking. And they actually thought it was fun!

"You've got to come tonight, Trowa!" Cathy said.

"You know I don't like those roadhouses." I shifted paperwork on my desk. You'd think she get my hint I had work to do.

"Why? It's fun. Dancing, drinking, laughing. It would do you good!" 

"I like the quiet Friday nights to get caught up on my paperwork."

"Oh! You are such a stick in the mud!" Cathy threw her arms up.

Missy knocked then entered the door Cathy had left open. "Mail," she announced, placing the pile on my desk.

"Thanks," I told her. At least one of them understood work.

"And you got these two requests for petty cash." She handed me the forms.

"Missy'll come tonight, won't you?" Cathy asked.

"Where?" asked Missy.

"Dancing at the Roadhouse. All our friends will be there. Jackpotting, laughing, having a good time."

That was totally unfair of Cathy, she knew Missy would follow her anywhere. Missy still seemed to be a Cathy fan. I knew Missy wouldn't like that crowd but she agreed any way.

"Good," crowed Cathy linking her arm in Missy's. "We need to get you out doing normal stuff anyway."

"It sounds like fun." Missy grinned at Cathy. Then she looked at the watch I'd bought her. "Oh I've got to run!"

"Fine." Cathy let go of her. "We leave here at about 8:30."

"Great!" Missy left in a hurry, off to rehearsal.

Cathy turned back to me. She raised her eyebrows.

"It changes nothing," I told her.

"Really? If you go, you could dance with her." She held her arms out and waltzed toward the door. She stopped in the doorway. "If you don't, other men will." She left, but I could hear her dancing down the hall.

"Your little plots won't work on me, Cathy!" I called after her. I heard only the tinkle of her laughter in response. Damn her!

My pride wouldn't let me go dancing with them. But the evening was wasted because I found it impossible to work. Instead I spent my time worrying about men taking advantage of poor little Missy. I told myself I was responsible for her and that's why I worried. Cathy shouldn't risk someone like her like that! Missy was still an amnesiac after all.

I tried to work, but I couldn't focus on anything. I blamed Cathy. Why did she have to mess with things? When I went to bed, I found myself lying awake in bed. I couldn't get to sleep until I heard them both come home. They were quiet, but I heard them.

Cathy stopped outside my door and whispered loudly, "You are a fool!"

I didn't say anything. 

The next Friday, I found that Missy did not go out again. I found this out because I walked in on her practicing in the gymnastics room that evening.

"Hey, you didn't go dancing?" I said.

"Oh, Trowa," she said turning around, "no, I didn't. I needed to work out a little. I'm too weak in the arms and I keep missing. Besides, last time I thought that y...well I thought it would be different than it was." 

"Different?"

She nodded. "Dancing was harder than I thought."

"You don't know how to dance?"

She smiled. "I sort of hoped it would be like making breakfast, I'd just know from somewhere in my past. Guess not."

"Must be interesting, figuring out what you knew before."

"Except when you embarrass yourself on the dance floor!"

"But you and Cathy dance all the time."

"Yeah but that's jazz dancing, showgirl stuff, circus stuff," she said.

"My point is you know that type, so learning other types will be easy."

"Spoken like someone who has never stepped repeatedly on Jack Panzini's loafers." She giggled.

I liked the fact she went out dancing and had danced with the 'safe' guy. I smiled. "Well I don't get much chance to dance with Jack Panzini."

"Well you could, you know," she joked. "I'm sure he'd much rather dance with you."

"So I've heard." I smiled again. She laughed. I made her laugh, it was a good feeling. And that was probably the reason I said what I said next. "If you want to learn ballroom dancing, I could show you?"

"You know how to dance?" She looked at me like she always did when I performed for her: with awe. The truth was, she looked at Cathy that way too. We were training the leader of our fan club. 

"Yes," I quipped, "The clown can dance."

She giggled. "Just so long as the Clown can do it without the bang." She feigned dancing and ducking my clown hair.

I laughed. "You know, that would make a good routine."

"Oh yes, it would be funny with you and Cathy." She gave me her patented adoring fan look.

"Why not you and I?" I heard myself suggest.

Her face fell. "Oh no, I can't even do the trapeze right yet! And besides I can't dance."

"You will. On both." I took her left hand and drew her towards me. And that was the first time I noticed it. Missy wasn't emaciated any more. She had muscles now. Her arms were beginning to look like Cathy's arms: strong and developed. Even better, I couldn't see her ribs. She had abs that would please any body builder. The only thing she was missing was a certain feminine softness. She was now muscle and bone. Of course, we hadn't let her sit still long enough to get any body fat. Except for one place. I caught myself before my staring became too obvious, but she had breasts now. She looked like a woman again.

Beautiful, I thought. The audience would cry at the beauty of her as she flew threw the air. I was sure of it.

"Well?" she asked and I realized I'd paused.

"Well, first..." I placed her hand on my shoulder and took her right in a lower swing style hold. "We'll start with the Jitterbug swing."

She scoffed. "Is there really a dance with that name?" 

"Yes, and it's a classic."

I'd missed working with Missy these last weeks. She was a joy to teach. She had this enthusiasm that made it easy. She never got discouraged, she'd get determined. And when she got something right, she'd smile and it would light up her whole face. I know that's a cliché thing to say, but I don't know how else to describe it. I don't know how long we danced that night, but it was the most fun I'd had in as long as I could remember. We tried all the dances I knew: The Jitterbug, the Lindy, the waltz and the nightclub two step. The Lindy is swing too, but the nightclub two-step is a slow dance like the waltz. Slow dances are made for tall people with the sweeping moves and the up-down stride. Her long legs were built for it.

When we'd got the basics of the nightclub two-step down, we put on a slow rock song: 'Lady in Red', which is a very old song. It had been redone that year and was very popular. During it, she stopped grinning at her success and let her body and face move to the music. Music has a way of demanding an emotional response from you, and I felt myself drawn into the beauty of watching her move. I led selfishly, moving her in circles so I could see all of her. I spun very little myself, and stopped leading her behind my back. I couldn't see her face if I did that. Or the gentle smile that played on her lips. Or her softly curling hair, which had gained enough length to frame her face like a halo of gold. Or her pale blue eyes that held me captive as I looked at them. When the music stopped I was still looking at them, at her. 

I was holding her in my arms, but her eyes held me. I was drawn to her. I wasn't thinking. There was only her, and a growing desire deep inside of me to kiss her.

But it only lasted a moment, because when the last bars faded away completely, the audience clapped. My sister, and the Friday night crowd had returned. God, I would've given anything for Heavyarms at that moment to blast them all away! But instead, the performer in me took over. I led Missy into a graceful dancer's bow and curtsy. 

Cathy laughed. "You were just pretending last Friday Missy! You do know how to dance."

Missy grinned. "I do now. Trowa taught me. Just the basics though." She looked at me, and there was something new in her eyes-some understanding. Something I'd like just two more minutes to figure out.

The crowd moved in to surround us. I have never been one to show my feelings on my face, which is a good thing because I didn't want the whole circus to know what I felt right at that moment. Disappointed. Why did they have to come just then?

I followed the crowd back to the dormitory, barely listening to their pointless chatter. It wasn't until I got safely back in my room that I realized what I almost did. I stood there in horror. I'd almost kissed an amnesiac war victim! Someone who'd placed her trust in my circus and me. I'd nearly taken advantage of her! I must have responded to the temptation of her natural hero worship of me. The man in the circus I should protect her from was me. I felt like the lowest cad ever to crawl the earth sphere. I vowed it would not happen again.

But the gossip chain had been set in motion like a cascading line of dominoes. That very next day, I was walking passed a room when a whispered comment reached my ear and I had to stop and eavesdrop. I stood next to the door, putting all my old skills as a Gundam pilot to use, and heard it all.

"Did you see the way he looked at Missy when they were dancing?" crowed Gwen.

"I sure did, well that confirms it doesn't it?" said a girl I couldn't place without looking in, and I wasn't going to look in. They might stop talking.

"Well it was certainly obvious that she loved him before this, I mean if her statement the Friday before when she realized he didn't come dancing is any proof..."

"Oh I missed that, what did she say?" It sounded a little like Anna, or maybe Mary-Beth. Even now, I don't know.

I leaned closer, as eager as any of the gossipers themselves to hear about Missy on that Friday night.

"She said very sadly: 'But where's Trowa?' to Cathy. I heard her. And then she looked incredibly depressed for the rest of the night."

"Yeah, I thought that was because she danced badly."

"She just didn't want to dance with anybody else, that's why she danced that way. Did you see her last night?"

"She said he taught her."

"Sure, I believe that one."

"Missy's not that manipulative."

"No I agree there, I don't think she realizes she's doing it. Blind love."

"Why does he like it? Why does he like her? I've seen hundreds of girls practically throw themselves at him and he never responds."

This statement caught me off guard. Where was I? How come I'd never noticed these hundreds of girls I hadn't responded to! That absolutely couldn't be true.

"Oh it's just like him. There's only two things that man cares about in this world. The circus business and his sister. He's got one, he can't keep the other because she's in love with that politician, so he finds some girl with no past and no future and creates a copy of Cathy." 

"Really?"

"Oh sure, men do it all the time. I've seen a hundred movies where some popular guy finds this poor worthless girl turns her into his perfect woman and falls in love with her. It's a main movie theme. Like that one Greek guy-you know the one who carves a statue and then falls for it and asks the Goddess of Love to bring her to life."

I knew who she meant: Pygmalion. But Missy was not my Galatea. She wasn't my statue. I was not making a copy of Cathy. And I definitely was not in love with Missy! Yesterday was just an unguarded moment that wouldn't happen again. But even if I butted in and told them so, it would only make matters worse. 

So I left, very quietly. But I still thought about what I'd heard. It was hard not to. I did feel bad that I exposed Missy to those kind of rumors. And I wanted to check and see if the rumors upset her. So I waited for her in my office, since morning rehearsal was almost over.

We hadn't talked much at breakfast that morning. Cathy had dominated the conversation with the details of the Friday night dance. Plus I was still a bit ashamed at what I'd almost done to Missy. I didn't look at her much then. 

She came by my office at about eleven to do the normal errands she always does. 

"There's something I'd like to talk to you about, Missy," I told her when she handed me the mail.

"Sure." She sat down. 

I found myself noticing another part of her that was no longer emaciated. Her lips. They were much fuller now. The lips I almost kissed. Shocked at the direction of my thoughts, I forced myself onto the subject.

"I want to apologize for the rumor...about, well...you see it's about..." I couldn't believe I was being this inarticulate. What was so hard about saying 'You and I'?

She laughed before I could spit it out. "Which one of the many rumors do you mean?"

"The one I caused by my behavior last night...wait a minute, there's more than one?" This I couldn't understand, surely last night was the first time anyone had true fodder for starting rumors of a romance between Missy and myself?

She smiled. "Well, let's see...there's definitely the one about you and I being an item, but that one's been around for forever."

"It has?"

"Then there's the one about me being a victim of some action of yours during the war and you are training me because you feel guilty. Then there's the one about Cathy being a homosexual and she and I are an item."

I think I groaned, or maybe just raised my eyebrows.

"Then there's the rumor that you have a sister complex and are trying to turn me into another Cathy..."

"Heard that one..." I mumbled, and a pit opened up in my stomach.

"Then there's the one about me being the act you were going to replace the Panzinis with before they signed the contract." She thought for a second. "Oh yes..."

"Good Lord there's more?" I put my head in my hands.

"There's one about me being a con artist who has you wrapped about my little finger. Also the one where I'm a cancer patient with only two years to live and a dying wish to perform in the circus."

I felt miserable. "How did this happen?"

"Well, when you don't offer any information, people simply make it up." She smiled. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it!" I was startled.

"Which one bothers you? They're all just wild guesses."

"It's just that I thought the one about you and I would make you uncomfortable." I watched her face for a reaction. 

"It does, a little," she admitted.

I felt happy that it bothered her, because if it didn't that meant...I forced that thought away. "Then I am sorry. What happened last night was inexcusable, and I..."

"Dancing with you only added fuel to a fire that's been burning for a long time."

That particular choice of words made me uncomfortable. It had added fuel to more fires than gossip. "How did it get started then?" I asked.

"Oh lots of little things. Did you want a list?" 

"Yes, tell me, so I can avoid embarrassing you in the future."

She tapped a finger on her lips thoughtfully before answering. "Well, you should stop making every excuse to come talk to me."

"I don't!" Then I thought about it. "Do I?"

"The inventory?"

"I really couldn't find it."

"It was right in the middle of your desk."

"Well yes but..." I said.

"And you searched the place to find me when the baby elephant was born."

"I thought you'd like to see it."

"I did, but you could've waited," she said. 

"Well, I..."

She giggled at my discomfort, in a way I thought she was enjoying our little interview. "Do you want the list or not?"

"Please continue." 

"Stop buying me presents."

"I've only gotten you useful items!" This was really making me uncomfortable.

She held up her wrist. "The watch?"

"You needed a watch." I had gotten it for her a month ago. It had a pretty blue leather band that matched her eyes.

"Then you should've given me the money and sent me for it. You picked it out yourself, and it's a nice one, definitely gossip material."

"I concede the point. Is that it?"

"Well, you should stop watching me rehearse."

"I don't. I can't. Cathy and I practice in another room now."

She smiled. "Of course, why do you think she insisted on the move?"

"She said I was too distracted...okay, okay, fine, next?"

"Well it would help if you didn't sit next to me at lunch and glare at any man I try to talk to."

My jaw dropped, speechless. I wanted to deny it, but I knew it was true. I had told myself that I was protecting her from people who would take advantage of her in her condition. I had no idea it could be taken that way. Then something occurred to me. "If I stop doing all these things, then you should stop doing the things you do."

"I do? I don't do anything gossip worthy."

"You do. You always look at me like an adoring fan."

"But," she stammered, "you're Trowa the Clown! You're famous."

I raised my eyebrows at her.

"Okay, I'll try." She blushed. 

"Also," I continued, "You probably shouldn't wear that T-shirt anymore."

She looked at her chest, a big goofy cartoon of me as Trowa the Clown was in the center of it. "But Cathy gave me this. Lots of people wear it, it was last year's shirt!" 

"It's me."

She pouted a little. "Okay, I'll stop wearing it." 

"I also hear you sulked that Friday when I didn't come dancing..."

"I was upset at my lack of dancing ability!"

"I heard people gossiping about it. That you mournfully asked why I hadn't come."

She flushed redder and I knew it was true. 

I held up the stack of mail. "And I am capable of getting my own mail too, you know."

She looked crestfallen. "I was just trying to help. You've done so much for me!"

I began to regret having to do this. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but this had to be done. "And I appreciate it, but maybe it's best to not do it for a while."

"Very well." She definitely pouted then. "But I'm not stopping breakfast!"

"Don't you dare! Cathy would kill me." And I'd help her.

She giggled and I was relieved that she was still able to laugh at the situation. "Okay." She sat there for a moment, but then said, "Is it really so important to stop this gossip?"

I sighed. "My goal for you was to give you a career. In your own right. When we start the season, I hoped you would be just like every other circus member. One of us. I don't want to handicap you by making the our supposed relationship the only reason you are accepted."

"Thank you." She looked at her hands again.

"Beside, the producer really shouldn't..."

"Be involved with a performer?" she volunteered.

"Be thought of as involved with a performer. I'll never be able to hire you then." The whole thing made my head hurt. This was way too complicated.

"Okay, we'll begin immediately. Can I go to lunch now?" She looked at me, determined.

"Sure." I watched her get up and walk to the door, then I added, "I really am sorry about this."

She turned. "It's okay." Then she left looking very much like I'd just canceled Christmas on her. Suddenly, I wanted to call her back, to tell her to forget it. But I didn't, I couldn't let myself hinder her career. 

I rescued her from a shelter, I'd given her a voice and a job. I was her hero, she'd do whatever I asked. She was becoming a trapeze artist just because I wanted her to. And I knew, that if I asked her, she'd kiss me. Even if she didn't want to, just because I was her savior. I couldn't take advantage like that. No matter how much I wanted to feel those full lips on mine, or see if her eyes still had that sparkle after I kissed her...or would there be something more there...

What was I thinking? Had I completely lost control of my thoughts? 

As I sat there, I wondered if I really could ignore her during the day and these wild thoughts of mine. My hand closed into a fist. Of course I could. I was the producer of a circus, the star! I could do anything.

Ms Grimm, you have caused me to stay up very late yet again. Well, actually, I just lost track of time. As much as I'd like to stay up, I do have work tomorrow. I think I'll have some time to continue tomorrow evening.

Yours truly,

T. T. Bloom

_"Don't dance all night with me, till the stars fade out of sight,  
They'll see it's alright with me, people will say we're in love." --Oklahoma_


	4. Obstacles

To: Alisa Grimm, staff writer  
Colony House Books, Inc  
From: T. T. Bloom, Producer  
The Greatest Show in the Universe  
Date: February 19, A.C.213  
Re: Biography

Good evening Ms Grimm. As I read back over what I've sent you already, I keep noticing little things I've left out. So much happened during Winter Quarters that season between Missy and me. Small details. But I can't go back. You may have to go back and add a few things as I mention them out of order. But only if you think they are important. I'm glad you're writing this and not me.

The first two days of trying to ignore her were very difficult because before I could start, I had to break a few habits. I found not sitting by her at lunch uncomfortable. I sat across the room and with my back to her. But I knew where she was-vividly. As if she gave off some sort of beacon that only I was in tune with. The nerves of my body were tingling in which ever direction she was.

I also worried about her rehearsals. I really wanted to check on her. Cathy gave me an odd look when I suddenly gave up leaving every break we took to go to the other room. The room where Missy practiced with the Panzinis, swinging from her trapeze like an angel, clad in only a leotard and tights.... No, it was definitely not a good idea to check on her.

But after the following Monday arrived, things changed. That week marked the beginning of the full rehearsals. The circus artistic director always flies in for the final month to put the show together. We'd had the individual directors with us since August; watching and talking and planning. There were four of them: clown director, choreographer, animal director and stunt director. Once the artistic director arrived on the scene the four individual directors were able to fly out to join the next show scheduled for Winter Quarters. The artistic director would pull the show together and stay on the road with us for the first month to make sure everything was running smoothly.

That year it was still Marcus Fouhy, a small man with black hair and a goatee. He was a good director, one of the best. He loved the circus, and therefore hated anyone who might ruin it. Having him around was like having a drill sergeant from boot camp-the very air crackled with yelling and insults. Very few people had Fouhy's undying respect, and you pretty much had to be a star to have it.

As the producer, I had my hands full playing peacemaker. Not to mention, convincing a few acts not to quit when they saw the line up. There were two places most acts wanted to be-the beginning or the end. And, logically, only two acts would get them. It was always a problem.

Keeping away from Missy was easy once he arrived. I didn't want 'Firecracker' Fouhy seeing her until she was ready. The Panzinis and I teamed up to make excuses why they couldn't perform for him yet. He wasn't happy, but I outranked him. Or as he put it: I stifled his creativity. However, the Panzinis had no need to worry. They could afford to stall. They would get the top spot at the end of the show. They were our most popular act. And they had Fouhy's respect, or rather, Mister Panzini did.

With Missy, the Panzinis were rounded out to eight artists in all. So, due to the number being divisible by four, they decided on an elemental theme. Mister and Mrs. Panzini would represent Earth. Jack and his sister Maria would be Fire. The two littlest Panzinis, Kim and Chris, would be Water. Missy and Paul, the middle brother, would be Air.

Missy spent every waking hour with the Panzinis now. All eight of them worked like demons to get her ready. Marcus Fouhy could not be kept waiting for two weeks that was something not even the combined efforts of Mister Panzini and myself could accomplish. Mister Panzini assured me that she would be ready, but it still bothered me. I could not go check, not with Fouhy next to me all the time. And so it was both easy and hard to keep my resolve.

For her part, Missy sat far away at lunch, with her back to me also. She stopped getting my mail and doing the clerical errands. And she didn't wear last year's shirt. But she didn't stop breakfast. It was the only time we had together. I have never found it so easy to get out of bed in the morning, before or since.

I savored every moment of it. When I could look at her as much as I wanted, hear her speak and laugh, watch the smile and the sparkle of her eyes. Mostly we spoke of the rehearsals. How worried she was. How tired we both were. I complained about Fouhy, and she commiserated with me. It really didn't matter what we said. She could've sat there and smiled, and I would've been happy. I didn't want to leave, to start the day. To start ignoring her.

I had gotten through six days of success with the plan when I had to deal with the obvious repercussions. I had to work through lunch that day. So I called down to the cafeteria for Cathy to bring me up a sack lunch. I thought nothing of it at the time, but apparently she did.

"Why did you have me bring this up?" she asked when she arrived.

"You never minded before," I said.

"Oh I don't mind. What I mean is, doesn't Missy usually do this for you now?"

I knew what she was getting at. I knew this conversation would come up. I'd practically written up a script just for this occasion, I knew my sister and I anticipated exactly what she would say. "She has a few times. I don't remember."

"What is up with you two?" She sounded a little exasperated.

I raised my eyebrows at her.

"Don't give me that look, Trowa! You know what I mean." She started to get angry.

"Perhaps you better tell me," I said, pitching my voice to sound perfectly calm and reasonable. The game had begun.

She threw her hands into the air. "Okay, first you start ignoring each other. You spend all your time with that fool Fouhy, and when you do come to lunch you sit far away with your back to her. She's stopped wearing her favorite shirt and she doesn't help you in the office any more. The whole circus thinks you two are fighting!"

"What do you think?"

She pointed her finger at me and gave me a piercing look. "I think you're up to something. I've seen you two at breakfast. You guys look at each other as if trying to memorize each other. I could choke to death on a piece of bacon and you two wouldn't notice."

"I'm not exactly sure what you're getting at," I said with no change of expression.

"Don't play your games with me Trowa, I'm your sister! I know you! And you are in love with Missy. But you're playing some strange..."

"Just one minute, Cathy. Are you suggesting that I am chasing a woman who is suffering from amnesia? That I would pursue a woman who is that defenseless? Just what sort of man do you think I am?"

She rocked back and blinked twice. "But...your behavior these last two months, the way you look at her..."

"Is nothing more than the care I promised Quatre I would give her."

"You are lying! Maybe to yourself first, but her...the way she...well if you aren't then she definitely is!"

Her words weren't coming as easily anymore and I knew I had her. Relentlessly I pushed the interview to its inevitable conclusion.

"Be serious Cathy. Perhaps you are referring to the hero worship she exhibits? She does that to you too, you realize? And you should see the way she looks at the Panzinis. She's star struck." What I said sounded reasonable and there was a grain of truth there. If I couldn't convince Cathy, I was sunk.

"But I saw you two dancing, I saw the way you looked at each other! I saw you almost kiss her..."

"What you saw was the hundredth time we danced that night. If I was going to take advantage of her, don't you think I'd have done it long before you showed up?" I glared at her. "Just because you and your active imagination want something to happen doesn't mean it will." 

That was the main piece of my plan, make her doubt herself and she would doubt everything. She knew she had an active imagination, that she was capable of what I excused her. 

"You've always wanted to marry me off, will you latch onto every girl who walks though the door? Worst of all, a girl without a past? Who's so damaged the circus may be her last hope? Who can't even remember where she was born? You've picked hundreds of women out for me, but you've never tried to get me to take advantage of someone."

She gasped a few times. I could see the confusion cross her face. I had her. I'm a bastard.

"Just tell me you haven't contributed to the horrible gossip going around about us. Jackpotting like that is sure to damage her career."

Her face flushed and she looked down at her hands.

"I see. Well, do your best to defuse it, won't you? I don't want Missy to be thought of as someone who sleeps her way to the top. Perhaps I should transfer her to another show?"

"No! Don't do that. I've been stupid Trowa. I'm so sorry."

For some reason the honest look on Cathy's face bothered me. "Don't worry about it. Now, I really do need to work this lunch."

Cathy left quietly. I felt bad, but what I said, even though I planned to say it, was the truth. Wasn't it?

The next week was very stressful for both Missy and me. Mister Panzini assured me she was ready, but I so much wanted her to succeed that I still worried. Missy took to counting her mistakes then listing them at breakfast. This only made matters worse. And to top it all off, I had to wait until they performed for Fouhy to see for myself. I chafed at that self-imposed rule.

So, there I was, standing next to Marcus Fouhy, watching the performance for the first time in two weeks, and doing my level best not to look upset. Luckily, I'd had plenty of practice at not showing my emotions.

It wasn't a costumed rehearsal, so Missy stood out among the Panzinis who were all of dark Italian descent. They used old costumes to practice in. She wore a leotard. Luckily, nobody matched. You always pick the most comfortable costume to practice in, and that usually wasn't the same as the others picked. Mister Panzini, for example, wore a costume that was well worn, and before my time. Back when the Flying Panzinis included his father. 

When they climbed up, the Ringmaster called off each name from a script. He still had some memorization to do. I'd have to get on him about it again this year.

Missy, who lacked a name, became 'Missy Panzini' and that worked. The audience would like that and wonder who she married: Paul or Jack. Chris was too young.

"Missy Panzini?" asked Fouhy.

"New this year," I told him.

He looked down at the costume design pictures they'd given him. "The four elements, eh? I like it. Don't make them look alike because they can't anymore. She stands out like a ghost." He looked back as the Ringmaster started in on the speech about the elements.

It started out small, like it always does. Each proves they can do the simple swing out, let go, grab Mister Panzini's hands, swing, let go, grab the bar, and return to the platform. Missy did it simple and first. The simple one always goes first. My heart was in my throat, but she did it perfectly. Paul did his with a somersault in the middle. Kim and Chris did it together, each catching just one of Mister Panzini's hands. Jack and Maria did a consecutive exchange-Maria over, Jack under. 

Jack stayed on the bar and set up to catch, and Missy moved up to the top platform. This was the move she worried about. On the top platform, she raised her self into one of those handstands she does well. She wobbled a bit, and I held my breath. Jack and Mister Panzini began swinging.

Then at the right up swing, Jack made the grunt to let her know to go. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

She flipped back into the air, over into Jack's hands. The flip was good but she missed Jack's left hand on the first grab. They fumbled and connected just a moment before her weight would've pulled hard on his right arm. As they swung out to Mister Panzini, she was transferred to him and then to the platform above his swing. There she stayed until the major stunts of the rest of the Panzinis were completed. 

Paul's stunt landed him on the platform over Jack's swing, and I noticed that one stunt left them in elemental formation. Paul and Missy at the top. Kim and Chris on the bars. With Jack and Mister Panzini passing Maria and Mrs. Panzini below.

Kim Panzini fell to the net in the middle of her difficult stunt, but that was the only error other than Missy's fumble. Missy's dismount was again a handstand flip from the platform into the net below.

After the conclusion, the Panzinis gathered about Fouhy. I caught myself smiling at Missy and forced myself to look any place but her. 

"Magnificent, Mister Panzini! Your family is the jewel of this show!" crowed Fouhy. 

"Thank you sir."

"And I'm so glad you finally added an eighth person. Even numbers are best. She still needs a little work but she recovered well. Plus that handstand, though simple, will be a crowd pleaser." Fouhy looked at young Kim. "Only one fall too. Kim's timing was off, you know."

"Yes sir, but it's a difficult stunt for her. We're working on it." Mister Panzini smiled at his youngest daughter.

"I like the elemental theme, but the music is all wrong and I'll need to fix the speech you wrote for the Ringmaster."

"I thought you would when I wrote it sir," said Mister Panzini.

"Yes," drawled Fouhy. He hated being predictable, but Mister Panzini had been around a lot longer than most of us including Fouhy. "What's next on the schedule, Mr. Bloom?"

I checked the list. "The clown skit for the second half. This way." I walked out of the room. I wanted more than anything to look back and see Missy as the Panzinis began hugging each other in celebration. But I did not.

A while back, on one of Cathy, Missy and my shopping trips, Missy had seen a little silver ring. It fit her right little finger perfectly. It wasn't very expensive, having only a small red garnet in the middle of a simple design. I went back the next day and bought it and a congratulations card and set them aside. That was long before the gossip plan, long before she told me to stop buying presents for her.

I had bought it for this day. For the day she performed for the director. It was a hard decision. I debated with myself for most of the rest of the day. I finally convinced myself it didn't mean anything. It was a congratulation gift. I give such things to Cathy too. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt, and I really wanted to give it to her. Finally, I put the ring, the card and a signed contract on the breakfast table for her to find. In the card, I told her when I bought it and why. I hoped she wouldn't take it the wrong way.

She didn't. That next morning I found a card by my plate. A thank you card which said 'Don't worry, I won't tell anyone where I got it.' 

When Missy and Cathy joined me at the table, the card was already squirreled away from sight. I noticed Missy had the contract in her hand.

"I have a question for you." She held the contract up. "What name do I sign here?"

Cathy looked at me. 

"I guess, for now, your stage name will do." I remember reading somewhere that that was a legal name.

So she signed 'Missy Panzini' right then. Cathy and I smiled at each other.

Missy looked at the name for a few seconds. "It used to be shorter."

"What?" Cathy asked.

Missy didn't look up. "I think my name was shorter." She drew in the air with the pen an 'M' then an 'I'. Then she paused. 

Cathy and I leaned forward.

Missy sighed. "It's gone. I can't remember." She looked as if she were going to cry. I realized that Missy really wanted to remember her past for some reason.

"Well, that's something at least," said Cathy. "Your name is shorter than Missy Panzini."

Missy nodded and handed me the contract.

"Welcome to the circus," I said and took it from her. 

"Congratulations Missy! You are officially a 'First of May' now!" Cathy crowed. The term 'First of May' refers to anyone in their first season with the circus. You see, back in the beginning, the circus only performed during the summer, so opening night was the First of May. The term still stuck even today. 

It was official now. She worked for us. She was a professional trapeze artist. I won. But at that moment, the only thing that mattered to me was the fact that I was now her boss. Her boss. As I looked at her, I could almost see the wall rise between us. Some irrational part of me wanted to rip the contract to shreds. But instead, I signed it and gave her the copy.

Everything had changed now. She'd have to stay with the other performers on the road. We could keep her with us for the rest of the time here, but no more. I was in charge of everything that a friend could not be-contracts, raises, benefits, etc. Underlying it all was the cardinal rule: we could never be together.

But that didn't matter right? I wasn't in love with Missy. Was I? I looked up at her. She and Cathy were talking, about what, I don't remember. I looked at her face, her blue eyes, her soft golden hair. She seemed to sense me looking at her, because she turned her head. She looked a question at me. Her eyes capturing mine. And I knew.

I was in love.

Completely and totally in love with Missy. The trapeze artist I created. My statue. And just like a statue, she was beyond my reach.

I stood up. They both jumped.

"Is something wrong Trowa?" Cathy asked.

"I have some work." I walked toward the door, the contract clutched in my hand.

"Are you feeling alright?" Missy called after me. "Your face..."

"I am fine." I closed the door behind me with a click.

Connected to my office is a small water closet. I went there and splashed cold water on my face. It helped. What it did not help was my heart, which felt as if it were skipping every other beat. I looked in the mirror, but I didn't see my face, just some nameless clown. 

Ah, Ms. Grimm, I'm afraid I've had a long day and I cannot afford to spend the night writing. If I go on any farther the rest will tumble out and just keep coming, sort of like that old clown stunt that uses a very small car and well, you understand. We will be in transit to the next colony tomorrow, so I won't be able to write for at least two days. And it's my own sense of timing and showmanship that tells me that this is an excellent spot to leave off. Sort of a cliffhanger, right? 

Yours truly,

T. T. Bloom

_"Before I gaze at you again  
Let hours turn to years  
I have so much forgetting to do  
Before I try to gaze again at you" -Camelot_


	5. She Remembers

To: Alisa Grimm, staff writer  
Colony House Books, Inc   
From: T. T. Bloom, Producer  
The Greatest Show in the Universe  
Date: February 21, A.C.213  
Re: Biography

Good Evening, Ms. Grimm. Thank you for your kind and encouraging note. I promise I will try to pick less harrowing spots in the future to leave off. Frankly, I'm surprised my poor writing has you so interested. Let us continue then.

What happened the next few days is my own idea of what hell must be like. Breakfast with Missy was now completely out of the question. So by keeping busy, I could try not to have to see her all day. Now that I knew the truth about myself, I no longer trusted myself around her. 

Cathy brought me lunch in my office everyday. She never really said anything, but she looked worried. I think she believed that I didn't love Missy, so she didn't understand my behavior. And I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone. Except...

"Someone is in love with Missy?" asked Quatre through the vid-phone.

I nodded.

"Who?"

"One of the performers." I wasn't brave enough to speak the truth, not even with my best friend.

"But there's a problem? Don't you approve of this fellow?" He had a suspicious twinkle in his eye.

"Well, she's still a victim with amnesia. Perhaps a relationship might not be healthy for either of them?"

"Well, have you considered the possibility that she may never get her memory back?"

"Never?"

"It's possible."

I said nothing.

"I think a relationship would only help her. Even if it doesn't work out, she needs to go on living. She's become a strong person in your circus. I don't think she'll revert if her heart is broken, if that's what you are worried about." Quatre fingered his moustache. "I have hundreds of shelters for these victims. We give them counseling, sure, but nothing helps like building a normal life. Job, education, friends and love help them to heal more effectively than anything we can provide. My advice is don't interfere with them. Just be supportive. Be her friend." 

"Be her friend," I repeated. Not possible. 

He watched me from his side of the screen. His eyes missed nothing, not even on my emotionless face.

"It's you, isn't it?" he asked.

I said nothing. Could I tell him? I looked away, then back. I gave a quick nod.

"I thought there was something there last time I visited. When you gave up your side of the bet." He smiled that gentle smile of understanding. "Well, what are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

"But why? Didn't you hear what I just said? A relationship would be good..."

"I hired her!" Now he would understand.

He only thought a moment. "Then fire her!"

"Be serious!"

"I am. If that's the only thing that keeps you from happiness destroy it."

"I just got done making her into a trapeze artist!"

"So hire her again after you marry her."

"Marry!" My heart skipped a beat. Fear or joy, I couldn't tell. 

"Just planning on a fling were you?"

"No! I just hadn't thought that far." Now that the issue was on the table, I did think about it. Was I interested in marriage? My wife. Missy Bloom. I'd like you to meet my wife, Missy Bloom. Quatre laughed at me and I realized I must have a dopey grin on my face. My bubble burst.

"I've never seen you like this, Trowa. Love is good for you!"

"I'm not sure if I can do this." 

"So take it slow, think about it for a while. Make sure your feelings are true. But don't build stupid little obstacles." Quatre grinned at me, pleased with himself for solving all my problems so efficiently.

"What if it doesn't work, I'll have to work with her..."

"You are the producer! Move her to one of the other three shows. You'll never need to see her again. It's simple." 

"Yeah..." Why could he see my life better than I could?

After I got off the phone, life never looked better. I felt like going six places at once. I stood up and paced the room trying to gather my thoughts. This week was crunch week. We had full rehearsal both morning and afternoon. During the evenings we could still make small changes and polish the acts but the end was in sight. By Thursday, we'd be doing dress rehearsals. On Saturday at 7 pm, we'd have the friends and family show. Best audience of the year and the most forgiving.

As much as I wanted to rush into this, I decided that this week was not a good time to destroy our concentration. And if she rejected me...I shuddered. Well, I didn't need that before the show in front of all my friends.

What could I do? I wanted to do something. I would take Quatre's advice, I would take it slow. I would watch and listen to my feelings. I never attacked anything without recon, this would be no different. But that meant one thing. That meant I had to destroy those stupid gossip rules. Who cared if people thought we were in love? I didn't. Not anymore.

I knew just how to do it too. I went to the cafeteria. She was still there with Cathy and Gwen. I hadn't really looked at her since she signed her contract. I stopped at the door and just stared. She was wearing her leotard covered with running suit pants like most of the women did. Cathy and Gwen were talking but Missy ate slowly, gazing out the window. 

Now that I was here, my courage failed me. Quatre's words still hovered at the back of my mind, but I still felt hesitant about that first step. I risked so much to take it! Come on, the rational part of me said, it's not like you are going to ask her to love you today. 

Right.

"Missy, can I talk with you?"

All three of them looked startled to see me there. Missy more than the rest. Cathy and Gwen looked at Missy with curiosity.

"Sure," she said, getting up.

I lead her over near the wall and out of earshot of Cathy and Gwen. As I turned to face her, she looked up at me and her beauty struck me. How I'd missed looking at her, talking to her, being near her. Something inside me ached. How could I have given up breakfast?

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

No, I thought, everything is working perfectly. "Yes, first of all, I'm sorry for missing breakfast these past few days."

"You don't need to apologize. You left a note. I knew you had work to do." 

I nodded, "But the real reason I needed to talk to you was I just realized something."

"What?"

"We don't need to worry about gossip anymore?"

"We don't?" 

"No, you see, you signed the contract. You are hired, so the main worry is gone. My goal for you in the circus has been met, so there's no need to give up our friendship."

"But won't it still make you uncomfortable to have such a rumor being said?"

"Yes, but I can live with it, if you can." 

"I can." She smiled.

I smiled back. This was right. It felt right. And that moment I wanted very much to hug her and spin her around like happy people do. I was at war with myself. Wanting so much to touch her and hold her, but I was still listening to that rational part that reminded me I was going to take it slow and not start anything this week.

After a pause, she said, "Have you eaten?"

My lunch sat in a bag at Cathy's elbow as she and Gwen whispered and looked at us. "No, Cathy has my lunch."

She looked at it and her face fell. "Oh you have to work through lunch."

"No, I can put work off." I watched her face light up. A whole fleet of Mobile Dolls couldn't induce me to leave at that moment. 

We talked that lunch of all the things we'd wanted to tell each other on the breakfasts we'd missed. I listened to her talk of how nervous she was about the first performance. I told her about my first performance, about freaking Cathy out so she cut me. Never act indifferent to death when someone is throwing knives at you. I made her laugh.

But the real world intervened as it always does and we rushed over to the afternoon run through. I watched her whole act, like I hadn't let myself do before. I tried to picture what her costume would be like. That afternoon, Fouhy had finally reviewed all the costumes and rolling props. He had a list up for the order of the final parade. The dancers and the ringmaster had already been practicing the closing song in the rings up until now, but the rest of us were supposed to parade around the rings during it. 

Fouhy's office walls were lined with drawings of costumes, pictures of animals, and pictures of props. He moved them around until he was happy. I wondered, as I do every year, why he even bothered? He'd just change it when we finally got our costumes. They are never quite the same as the drawings of them.

I was on the last elephant. I'm always brought out last. The Panzinis were just before me, of course, being as popular as they are. The men rode in the swan shaped car, but the women rode the elephants in front of me. Cathy, who is also very popular, got to lead off the parade and join the ringmaster the center ring. The final song was a duet that they would sing together. 

It was a ritzy number, new this year, but sounded like the finales always do. Upbeat, jazzy, and always with words like 'aren't you glad you saw the circus?' or 'The circus is the best show in the Universe'. 

Fouhy required more handling as the week progressed. He took to yelling at everyone. I nearly strangled him when he yelled at Missy, but Mister Panzini handled Fouhy so quickly it was amazing. But there were two things that Mister Panzini had that I didn't: the logic of trapeze "She's only fallen once this last week, sir, it happens" and years and years of handling directors "Sir, what about the exchange toss? Do you think we should change it? I mean it's a bit over done..."

Fouhy puffed his little chest out proudly and, like a condescending noble, doled out his requested pearls of wisdom. Mister Panzini paid close attention to Fouhy, exclaiming at how wonderful each bit of advice was. Missy was completely forgotten.

I took notes. What can I say? I needed all the help with old Firecracker that I could get. Mister Panzini was a gold mine of circus wisdom.

After fasting so long without Missy, I was very happy to return to enjoying breakfasts and lunches with her. We seemed to talk as if nothing had happened. I lingered at each meal trying to stay with her as long as possible. Sooner than I expected, it was not enough. I wanted more. I wanted her love. I wanted her. I was beginning to formulate a plan for next week. I was already planning the arrangements for the first public show at a colony of L5. 

Her seat on the shuttle was next to Cathy and I. Even though we could no longer keep her in the same hotel suite as us, I got her a room on the same floor, as close to the suites as I could. Which, of course, wasn't close enough. I was spending free time online checking out romantic spots on the colony. I thought we'd start by dating. Romantic dinner, maybe a show. The more plans I made, the more I wanted this week to end.

But my happiness didn't last. One of our show elephants died of old age Wednesday night. This took us by surprise, because the bull elephant had shown no sign of slowing down. But he was a very old elephant and a proud performer until the end. We'd been training his replacement for three years, but the young bull was still a long way from being ready. And we definitely couldn't put a rider on him. 

Fouhy, who'd just rearranged the parade once when we'd all got into our costumes, now had one extra elephant rider to put somewhere. He put Mrs. Panzini in the swan car with her family, but that would never do. Green and browns dominated the car because Mister Panzini also wore the earth costume.

Firecracker Fouhy turned beet red and flew into a state, which was quite comical. I worried about the safety of the top button of his shirt. Everyone looked to me to diffuse the situation. 

"Mr. Fouhy," I offered, "why not put one of the Panzinis with me?"

"But you'll be limited in motion, Mr. Bloom!"

"Not if you put Kim with me. She's a small girl." I smiled at the man.

"Oh that just will not do!"

"Why not?"

Fouhy stomped over to Kim, took her by the hand and marched her over to me. He stood her beside me. "See?"

"What?"

"You clash!"

My costume that year was a Zoot Suit--a bit like a gangster suit. The baggy pants were wonderful for pratfalls and gymnastics, and the long suit jacket emphasized my movements. Always a good thing for clowning! But the colors were mostly black and red. The pants were vertical stripes in black and red, the suit jacket was black, the shirt was red, and the shoes were black with white spats. To make the picture complete, I had a fat black necktie covered in sequins, Polka dot spenders, and two long chains hooked from belt loop to belt loop across my hip.

"Oh. Then perhaps the animal trainers car?" I suggested.

"That would separate the Panzinis!"

"Perhaps we can find another car for me?"

Fouhy pressed his temples and looked more like a firecracker about to explode than ever, "No, No, NO! That's not my vision!"

I said nothing. Directors! You'd think someone ruined his whole life.

Finally, he looked up. "That's it! I'll just put one of the Panzinis with you!"

You'd think he thought of it. He called the other three ladies over to try their costumes next to mine. I hoped that he would choose Missy, of course. 

Her air-theme costume was stunning. White, mostly, with soft feather trim. It had a mixture of light blue and pale pink sequins that wrapped each leg, swirled up the belly and exploded on the chest. Long scarves dripped like fringe from each arm. With her soft halo of golden hair, Missy looked like an angel. I never got tired of looking at that costume.

I thought it would look just fine next to my black and red one. But of course, I was not the artistic director. I was not the color and presentation expert he was, as he reminded me frequently. 

None of the costumes pleased him. And he let us know too, in a long-winded rant. I looked with pleading at Mister Panzini: could he please handle Fouhy again? 

He got the message. "Mr. Fouhy, sir, we can all see that this problem will take a least a day for an expert like yourself to consider all the possibilities. We realize that an artist such as you should not be rushed!"

"Well yes, I'm so glad someone understands!" Fouhy glared at me, obviously I was someone who did not understand!

"So why don't you just let Missy ride with Mr. Bloom, for now, and take as long as you need to come up with the proper solution."

Did I mention how much I liked Mister Panzini?

"Oh very well!" snapped Fouhy. "But they look like a damned wedding couple! Black and white!"

"It's just for now, I'm sure you'll solve this difficult problem soon," I said, taking a page from Mister Panzini's book. Anything but keeping the entire circus from just standing around!

"Very well, then." Fouhy clapped. "Places please!"

Missy and I walked to my elephant. I was secretly congratulating myself on the situation. Not to mention, feeling a little heady at the fact that she and I looked like a 'wedding couple'. I felt that dopey grin returning and it was a triumph of my long-standing mastery of facial expressionless to contain it.

When we were out of earshot, Missy giggled. "How did you put up with him for so long?"

"You see now why I was complaining," I said.

She nodded.

The trainer was standing next to my elephant-'Friendly.' At a command, Friendly kneeled down to let us on. I got up first, then I turned to Missy.

"Missy, grab on." I held out my hand.

But she didn't. She froze, just staring at me. No, through me. I looked behind me. Nothing. When I looked back her hands were on her face and she was looking down. Slowly, her body collapsed beneath her and she sunk to the mat.

I don't remember getting down. I had her by the shoulders. "What is it? Are you okay?"

No response.

"Missy!" I gave her a little shake.

She looked up then. "I remember." She pushed away from me, stood up and walked away towards the wall where Anna and Gwen were standing.

I followed, but Fouhy suddenly appeared beside me. "What's the problem Mr. Bloom?" 

I looked at him. "A health issue, run the end without us."

"But..."

"Now!" I said firmly, fixing the fool with my glare. I still have the ability to look at someone in such a way that they feel I'm figuring out the best way to kill them. He rushed off.

Gwen and Anna were next to Missy when I came over. They ushered her out of the room and into the cafeteria. Anna was holding Missy's hand. 

"But that's wonderful, Missy! We'd hoped you'd get your memory back." I heard Gwen say as I followed them. They settled her at a table. I stood behind, wondering what I should do.

"Now you can tell us your name," Anna said.

"Mildred," Missy said. "My name is Mildred."

Gwen smiled, "Well, that makes sense doesn't it? You must've gone by Millie which is why you answered to Missy!"

"No," said Missy, still staring into nothing. "My little brother Alex couldn't pronounce Mildred. He called me Middie, and it stuck." 

I froze. I'd known someone named 'Middie' before. But this couldn't be her. It couldn't be.

"Well, where are you from?" Gwen asked.

"St. Petersburg, I was born there." 

It couldn't be her, something in me screamed. It just couldn't be. But I had fought in a rebel group in that part of Russia. I had met a Middie there. I moved around the table and sat across from her. I was almost afraid to ask, but I had to know, "What is your family name?"

"Une."

My world flipped on end. It was her! Middie Une, the girl who taught me to hate. The girl who I regretted not killing every time I thought of the captain. The only father I ever knew. She was the girl I let kill him. I'd known what she was, and I didn't stop her. After the captain died, I had a chance, one chance to kill her. Middie. The spy. But I couldn't do it. 

"What happened to you?" Anna asked

"We were poor. The war was very hard on us, on St. Petersburg. A mobile suit battle destroyed our home and killed my mother and sister. We lived in a slum outside of the city for months. Food and money were gone. My father had an injured leg, but they wouldn't treat him at the hospital-there were too many more seriously injured. I raided dumpsters and blasted homes to feed my three little brothers. I even raided an Alliance base. Three times before they caught me. Instead of killing me, they offered my family money, if I'd do a job for them. 

"They were impressed by my ability to get by them you see. My father refused, but I was the one who fed them. I was the one who had to look into my brothers' hungry faces day after day. I took the job."

"What happened?" Anna asked breathless.

"I had to take a transmitter into a rebel camp. I did it. The rebel fighters took me in. I stayed until the Alliance won. But when I returned, the Alliance base was deserted. They had betrayed me, they never planned to give me any money," she said bitterly. She wasn't there in that room anymore. She was back in St. Petersburg. 

"I went home." Her eyes got far away, as if reliving the day. "My father...daddy...I found your body, Daddy. Somebody shot you. I looked," her voice sounded young, with a slight accent. I knew that voice. It had haunted my nightmares for years. 

She continued, "But I couldn't find my brothers, Daddy. Are they dead Daddy? Because I found Alex's teddy bear, he wouldn't leave that behind. Would he?" She reached forward to touch something. "You're so cold, Daddy." She picked up a ghostly hand and held it before her. "What do I do now, Daddy? I used to be different. I used to have you and a job--but now I'm just like him." Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. "But he didn't cry Daddy, he didn't hurt. He was empty." She wiped at her tears like a child does, using the back of her hands. "Noname..." 

I hadn't heard that name in years, not since I was a little boy of fourteen or fifteen. It haunted my dreams though. And this--this felt like a dream. I hoped it was. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare and have it not be true. Have it not be that Middie had appeared again to take someone I loved from me. 

Anna and Gwen sat stunned and unmoving, just listening to the horrific tale. Behind us, in the other room, the performance sounded so far away. Almost surreal--the bright happy sounds of the circus outside clashed with the memories of horrors of the war.

"Daddy, Noname was right. I'm just like him, and if I go empty...I won't hurt either. I won't hurt either...I won't hurt." Her hands flopped onto the table, and her eyes, which before were gazing on a ghost, now looked at nothing.

She reminded me of the first time I saw her. Gone, lost in horror and emptiness. She was going back there again. 

I couldn't let her. "Missy!" I grabbed her hand before I realized what I was doing. "Don't do it! Noname wasn't empty! He never was!" I don't know why I said 'Noname' and not 'me', other than the fact that I'd left that identity behind and did not wish to go back to it. 

She slowly turned her head my direction. "He wasn't?"

"No, and you can't be either. You have a job now, and a family." Was I trying to save Missy or Middie? Did it matter? In the heat and panic of that precise moment I had to admit that it didn't.

"Yes," said Gwen, throwing her arms around Missy, "the circus is your family, don't leave us!"

Anna touched Missy's cheek, "Yes, don't leave."

Missy put her other hand on Gwen's arm. She looked at Anna, who put her arm about Missy. "But, it hurts..." she said in the child's voice.

Anna knew what to say. "It needs to hurt. Your father is dead and he needs you to cry for him, he needs you not to be empty, but keep him in your heart." Anna paused. "I lost my father too. He was a soldier in the war. I won't forget him!"

It was like a tidal wave. Something broke in Missy and she clung to the two women. She cried from the heart. Gwen, Anna, and I took her out of there, and back to the suite. 

At lunchtime, Cathy arrived. She found Missy and Anna on the couch with Gwen sitting on the floor next to the couch. I stood near the door, just watching. Missy had cried herself out and had fallen asleep with her head in Anna's lap. Gwen had gotten a wet towel and wiped Missy's brow and face. She sat there now, watching her sleep. We hadn't talked to each other.

"What happened to her?" Cathy whispered.

"She remembered." I said, without feeling. I wasn't capable of any feeling at that moment, except for one.

Cathy gasped. "The war?"

I nodded. "And her father's death."

"Poor thing!" Cathy moved to the couch, where she put her arm about Anna's shoulder and gave her a side hug. "Thank you Anna."

Anna nodded, her eyes were red, but I hadn't seen her cry. "I've been there," she whispered.

Cathy reached forward and clasped Gwen's hand, "Thank you, Gwen."

"What should we do now?" Gwen whispered.

"Help me put her to bed." 

The three women supported Missy off to her room, and I was alone. Alone with my thoughts. Part of me was glad I never told Missy how I felt, because I didn't feel that way any more. Not for Middie Une. Part of me was angry, angry at losing Missy. But mostly, I felt empty. Like I did that day, when the captain died. 

Now that I was alone, I tried to figure out what I should do. What I wanted to do. I didn't know. I didn't know what I wanted to do other than go back and live this day over. To undo whatever it was that I did to bring Middie out. To have my Missy back again. It was a childish wish. 

Cathy and the two women came out of the room and she hugged them both and sent them off to lunch. She told them to come back after rehearsal. When they were gone, she looked at me.

What could I tell her?

She looked at me for a long moment. I don't know what she saw, but she said, "You should call Quatre."

She'd barely finished the last syllable before I was out the door. Free!

I would not call Quatre. I knew what he would say. Oh yes. He would tell me to love that girl anyway. He wouldn't understand at all. 

I went to my office, but I found I couldn't sit still. I paced back and forth, a thousand thoughts raced though my head.

I hated Middie Une. This was a fact of my being. She was my enemy. She was the Alliance, who I'd fought my whole life. So many times in my life I could've happily gone back to the last time I saw her and pulled the trigger.

As I paced, I wished for things I could not have. I wished to go back to another moment in time-and leave her homeless and crazy in that shelter. I wanted to forget someone I loved named Missy Panzini ever existed.

I felt empty. Missy was gone. She didn't exist anymore. She never did. She was always Middie Une in disguise.

Now I wanted to rip her contract up for another reason! To send her away and never have to look at her again. But I could not do it. I could not fire her for no reason. The contract bound me as much as her. I'd agreed to hire her for one season. And for one season, I was stuck with her. I would discuss moving her with the other three producers as soon as possible, but it would not be easy and I couldn't do it now.

But there was something I could do. I changed all my plans. I moved her room reservation on the L5 colony as far from me as possible. I sat her next to Anna and Gwen on the shuttle. And I canceled all the date arrangements I'd made. Every last one of them.

I would never date Middie Une. I would never love her. I would never forgive her!

I know I promised to pick a better stopping point this time, Ms. Grimm, but I am getting tired. Not only that, but as I write this, I find myself reliving these emotions. They are not comfortable emotions for me. Please forgive me. I must stop.

Yours truly,

T. T. Bloom 

_"When I look at you, what I always see  
Is the face of someone else who once belonged to me" --The Scarlet Pimpernel_


	6. Another Dance

To: Alisa Grimm, staff writer  
Colony House Books, Inc  
From: T. T. Bloom, Producer  
The Greatest Show in the Universe  
Date: February 22, A.C.213  
Re: Biography

I spent all day in the grip of the emotions of writing last night. I find myself reluctant to continue, but I realize we are under a deadline. So I will force myself. Thank you for your second note of encouragement Ms. Grimm. And once again, I'm glad I don't have to tell you this story face-to-face.

I went to afternoon rehearsal. I didn't have to; I was the producer after all. But it was something I should do so I did it. The only thing that touched me in my fog of automatic pilot was hearing the ringmaster announce 'Missy Panzini', she wasn't there of course, but that didn't mean the script changes. And the Panzinis paused for the time it would take to do her stunts. Timing was important in the circus. 

Afterward I ate dinner in the cafeteria, and went to find Cathy for our evening rehearsal. I couldn't find her, but I knew where she was. So I took a shower to wash off the sweat of the day and get the stiffener out of my hair so I could pull it back into its standard ponytail. I lingered in the rehearsal room, messing with our perfectly well-maintained motorcycle. Cathy was sitting at the kitchen table when finally I got back. 

"There you are," I said. "We were scheduled to rehearse tonight."

She looked at me like I'd just slapped her. "But what about Missy?" She gestured to the door of Missy's room.

"Middie can take care of herself, besides she's asleep and not likely to get up now is she?" 

"What logic is that based on? As I recall, she needed a whole circus to help her last time, and I don't want her to wake up alone. What is your problem?"

"I don't think she'd appreciate us dwelling on it."

"Is that what Quatre told you?"

"He said nothing helps like keeping life normal." I left out the fact that he said that in a phone call a few days ago.

"Really?" Cathy frowned. "Well I still don't think we should be as cold as to leave her alone on the first day."

"Cathy, she's a grown woman. We don't help her by overprotecting her." I was worried that she'd want to keep Missy with us after Winter Quarters.

"He's right," came a soft-spoken voice behind me.

All my nerve endings came alive in her direction as soon as I realized she was behind me. I was frozen in place, and I did not want to turn around and look at her. 

"Missy!" Cathy looked at her. "Or should I call you..."

"No," Missy interrupted. "Keep calling me Missy. I'm comfortable with it. 'Middie' is a name from another time." 

For some reason it relieved me she chose the name Missy. Perhaps I wasn't looking forward to hearing the name Middie for the rest of this season. 

"Trowa is right, Cathy." Missy said, "I don't want you two to worry about me. It all happened so long ago to a person I'm not anymore."

"Missy..." Cathy trailed off at a loss for words.

Missy walked past me to take Cathy's hand. "I'm okay, and I'm glad. Really. It's better than not having memories, it really is." Missy smiled at Cathy. "I have just as many good memories as bad. Life, love, family, home-I didn't have that before and I was half a person."

Cathy pulled Missy into a hug. "I'm so glad!"

"Thank you," Missy said, then looked at me, "both of you."

I looked at her face. She didn't look like Middie. Not any more. She looked like the woman who danced with me. Who laughed at my jokes and watch me perform with awe. Who talked with me every morning. She looked like the woman who became the trapeze artist I wanted her to be. She looked like the woman I loved. 

How could I reconcile this marvelous woman with the girl who destroyed my life? Who stripped me of a purpose and sent me running to the colonies? Who killed the only man who treated me as a son? 

How could they be one and the same? I could not forgive her. I could not forgive Missy for being Middie. That was something I could not do.

As I look back on it now, Ms Grimm, I realize that it made no sense for me to be angry. No sense at all. I felt as angry as I had that day, the last time I saw her. Standing over the body of my father. Only this time I had no gun to shoot. No war to fight. No enemy to kill or let live.

So I did the only thing I could do. I left. Without a word. I know it must have confused Missy and my sister. But, I was still capable of hiding every last emotion. I went to my room, closed the door and barely pulled the covers over me before I was asleep. 

The great escape, only no one applauded.

By the next morning I was completely decided on the fact that I would endure this season. She would be like a nobody to me. Just another performer. I would look into moving her to another trapeze troupe with one of the other shows. I would keep my anger in check. She would never know how I loved her once, nor how I hated her now.

By the time I was dressed to go to breakfast, everything was perfectly decided, planned and controlled. 

I opened the door and walked into the kitchen area. Missy was cooking breakfast in an oversized shirt. Logically, I knew she had shorts on under the shirt, but I couldn't see them. I was overwhelmed with a desire to run my hands up her long legs and check. I imagined what it would feel like to run my hands up those long muscular legs. Smooth, firm, and warm. And what if the shorts weren't there? I almost groaned.

It was that moment when I realized exactly what I did and did not have control of. I controlled my emotions and my mind completely, but my body fought them both. My eyes memorized the entire curve of each leg, my hands wanted to touch her, and I again yearned to feel her lips on mine. I wanted her, with a force that hit me square in the center of my body.

I could not control that. I wanted the person I hated. This really pissed me off, mostly at myself, and my embarrassing lack of control.

She turned around and saw me. "Good morning Trowa, breakfast is almost ready." She looked at my face and a look of curiosity flickered through her eyes.

Seeing her beautiful face didn't help my control either. I got angrier at myself, but I took it out on her. "You should really dress before you wander around this suite." 

She looked down at herself. "But I am dressed."

"You looked like you just rolled out of bed. It's October, you should be more covered!" The instant I said it I pictured her uncovered. Completely uncovered. Great, I couldn't control my thoughts either. How dare Middie do this to me!

A hurt look crossed her face. "But I always wear this to morning calisthenics."

A bleary-eyed Cathy walked out of her room and straight passed me to the coffee maker. She was wearing the identical outfit to Missy's. 

Missy raised her eyebrows at me.

Still angry I said nothing and sat down at the table. I glared at Cathy for not backing me up, but she wasn't awake enough to notice me.

Missy turned back to the stove. "How do you want your eggs?"

I said, "Over hard" without thinking. Then I kicked myself for my one-track mind. Whoever came up with double-entendre names for egg styles should be shot. 'Over' and 'hard' describe exactly where my body wanted to be at that moment.

We ate breakfast in silence. My angry tone whenever questioned kept the talking to a minimum. But silence, I found, does very little to distract thoughts. And she was sitting right next to me! I finished quickly and fled to my early morning meeting.

Every Friday I met with my management team. These were, for lack of a better description the non-artistic directors of each group. There was the boss clown, the lead dancer, the boss stuntman, the head animal trainer, the business manager and the marketing manager. Tension was high. The show wasn't shaping up to Fouhy's liking. 

We had only two days to do it before the first show. I used to get worked up over these things too, but I'd learned over the years that this was always the case on the last few days. People would panic. What they needed right now was the voice of reason and that was my forte. 

I said all the right words in the meeting, and would continue to repeat them through out the next few days. It would keep me busy. And it would keep my mind off a certain hated creature.

The only flaw in that plan was the finale.

Fouhy had finally decided that as much as we clashed, Missy and I must ride Friendly together. This was very bad.

Certain things I could hide. The gooseflesh on my arm when I took her hand could be explained as a chill in the air. My sudden shortness of breath as she settled onto the elephant in front of me could be due to the previous performance winding me. But one thing I could not hide. Nor could I control it, no matter what horrible thing I forced myself to think about. No matter how my mind screamed that she was Middie. And if she leaned back just a little, or if Friendly moved forward too quickly, she would feel it. I didn't know what to do, so I took my feelings out on her. 

"Move forward, your hair is in my face," I snapped.

She did what I asked, but the set of her jaw and her stiffness almost made me feel as if I'd kicked her.

Fouhy was wandering down the line giving annoying little pointers. When he came to Friendly, he looked up at us and frowned. "Mr. Bloom, do you think that you and Miss Panzini can come up with something funny to do up there? I mean so many people will be watching this elephant, I can't have you just sitting there."

"What I planned for won't work with another person here, Mr. Fouhy," I told him, silently adding that Missy wouldn't be staying the whole season anyway. Not if I could help it.

Missy turned around in front of me, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Oh Trowa, what if we do that courting routine Bello used to do?"

"On an elephant?" I asked.

"Oh sure, it would be a new twist!" she said.

"But you can't do a handstand on an elephant, Missy," I said. 

"Sure I can, you taught me."

"I did not!"

"Well, you taught me to do one on a high wire while it was moving. Come on, Trowa, I know I can do this." She seemed so eager--and beautiful. "Watch me." She grabbed my shoulder and used it to climb over me onto the back of Friendly, having absolutely no idea what the feel of her body moving around mine did to me. 

She stood up on Friendly's back and nodded to the trainer. "Walk him please?"

As the elephant moved, she balanced herself with her eyes closed, getting the feel for Friendly's walk. Then, after about a minute and a half, she lowered her body and planted her hands. First one foot, then the other lifted off into the air. She stayed that way for the whole circuit the trainer walked us in. 

Mr. Fouhy crowed, "Fabulous, Miss Panzini, but how is that a sketch between you and Mr. Bloom?"

I tore my eyes away from her to look at him. "I'll show you Mr. Fouhy." I slid down off of Friendly, and went to the prop room for two props, which I brought back.

As Mr. Fouhy watched from the seats, we performed the whole sketch, on no rehearsals other than us both having watched Bello do this on the ground. 

It went like this. I am late to the parade and missed my elephant, so I have to run to catch up, I bounce on a small trampoline and land on Friendly's back. Missy already had my elephant so she makes shooing gestures to try to get me to vacate her elephant. I notice that she's good looking, so I try to woo her. I offer her a clown flower that collapses--she's not impressed. So I try to impress her. I make two rather unsuccessful attempts at a handstand on Friendly's back. Finally I get up into a handstand. She claps and I get flustered and fall in a messy heap drawing a loud knap off the side of my leg. 

She decides to show me how it's done so she sets me in her place, wags a teacherly finger at me and does her handstand. This handstand goes on for a long time. Too long. I check my watch and look at in surprise. I pout and get huffy, crossing my arms and turning away. I sulkily look back at her still in the handstand, finally I get an evil thought and rub my hands together with glee. I pull a long feather from my coat pocket and snicker about it for a minute letting the audience figure out exactly what I'm going to do.

Then I tickle her armpits until she falls, also with a loud knap. She looks up shocked and angry. I grab her head and plant a sloppy kiss on her nose before sliding off the elephant to get away and laughing to myself.

It wasn't until it was all over that I realized: I'd just given Missy a kiss. A clown kiss on her nose! Not the most romantic thing in the world but it still made me happy, for no reason I could fathom or control. Happy and irritated! 

Fouhy liked it and everyone clapped. Missy slid down off of Friendly and stood next to me as we watched Fouhy come down from the stands to talk to us. She'd done it. Perfectly. With a confidence of someone who'd studied Bello's routines. Missy studied my favorite historical performer. My role model. Not a trapeze artist. 

"Thank you," she whispered.

There were a million conflicting things I wanted to say to her. 'I love you for doing that' was at the top of the list, followed by 'How could you do that to me?'. She cared about me enough to study my hero to get to know me. Suddenly, things moved from the realm of what I was feeling to what we were feeling. She liked me, probably loved me. She didn't know anything about our past together. I was Trowa to her, not Noname.

What had I done? Had I already successfully won this woman's love? And now what was I to do, now that I didn't want it? I felt like I was falling from a great height. I was going to hit ground soon. Feelings would get hurt. This was going to get ugly. Damn!

I had to say something. So I simply played the part of the producer and gave her the correct response. "You did that very well." God, that sounded cold! I looked at her and forced a smile. "I'm sure Fouhy's happy with it, and the crowd will love it."

She looked up at me. "As long as you love it. That's enough for me."

Thank goodness that Fouhy arrived just then, because I didn't know the proper producer response for that one. Middie, I reminded myself, she is Middie.

Fouhy had to change it, of course. He super-sized the feather and put it in Friendly's hat. Then, he had the trainer get Friendly to 'capture' me with his trunk when I slid down. Then for the rest of the finale, Missy gets to tickle me to her heart's content from the top of the elephant as I try to get away.

We ran through the finale once more before lunch. Missy was perfect and the addition Fouhy made worked well. Friendly really liked to grab onto my collar. The trainer had to stay near to make sure the elephant wouldn't do it too soon or too tight. As for the feather-let's just say it's a good thing I'm not really ticklish.

I had to work though lunch and was nearly late for my first part of the afternoon run through. Everything ran smoothly that afternoon. Fouhy did not stop the show, not even once. The cast was excited about this becoming our first official complete run through, and spirits were high as we started into the finale. 

Being our third time through, Missy and I were due for a screw-up in our skit, but it didn't happen by accident. The thing I dreaded just a few hours before happened much quicker than I thought it would--and way before I was ready to deal with it. 

I don't know if it was her fault our mine. Did she lift her head up at the last second or did I? Either way, the kiss was not mouth to nose but mouth to mouth. It stunned me, and I finished the rest of the finale on auto-pilot.

I wasn't quite sure that I hadn't just imagined the whole thing. Not until I looked at her as we walked away from the elephant and saw that she was flushed and smiling. Then I knew that it really happened and she had done it. I saw red. 

I grabbed her arm and steered her in the direction of my office. When we got there I pushed her in and let go. I closed the door with a thud.

"Just what do you think you are doing, Middie?"

"What?" she asked.

"This isn't a game. This is work. You can't play games like that at work, with your boss!"

"I didn't play anything, you lifted my head!" She placed her hands on her hips.

"You know very well I did not, nor was I the one with the smug look on my face afterward!" I glared at her. 

"Smug! I did not look smug I looked happy!" She looked shocked at what she just said. At the risk she had just taken. I saw her decide to keep going. "Because I...I wanted it to happen."

"You wanted it to happen so you made it happen." I folded my arms, but my heart skipped beats in my chest.

"You wanted it too!"

"Now you go too far." I had to end her infatuation with me right then. Before it got us both in trouble.

"Do I? Do you want that list again? Or just the things you've done recently which make people believe you're in love with me?"

There was evenness in my voice. "Whatever new things you've imagined or hoped for does not interest me. I am not..."

"Did I imagine you're tone this morning when you said I was half dressed? Do I imagine the way you suck in your breath every time we touch? Or the way you looked at me when I did Bello's skit with you? Tell me, did I imagine all those things?" She stepped towards me with the determination she always shows when she tries anything new. She would keep trying until she got it right. 

I crossed the room to my desk. I did not face her. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I can assure you Miss Middie Une, that I do not love you."

"I don't believe you."

I threw my hands up in the air and turned around. "What can I do to convince you? Obviously the truth isn't working."

She flinched, and placed her hand on her chest, which heaved with pent up emotions. "No, I know that's not the truth." She paused. "I've known it since that day you taught me to dance. When you looked at me, and for the first time in my life I felt beautiful. But it wasn't right...I thought...I felt...well I just couldn't love you in return. Not then. Not when I wasn't a whole person. But yesterday I remembered. I remembered who I am and I still love you!"

Every fiber in my being wanted to go to her, to hold her in my arms and never let her go. My mind however, knew her for what she was. I could never forgive her. "These emotions are all yours. Not mine."

"Prove it. Dance with me."

"What?"

"Dance with me like that day. Then, I'll know for sure. If it's true, I'll never bother you again." She held out her arms to me. 

I looked at her, and I knew. Knew I could never get through a dance with her. She shimmered in that body-hugging costume. It left nothing to the imagination. Not the curve of her breasts nor the flatness of her stomach. She was a vision that had haunted my sleepless nights. If I held her in my arms-I wouldn't dance. I turned away again, trying control my breathing.

"See, you can't do it. Please tell me why are you fighting this?" Her voice flowed over me like a warm wind.

I had to do it. I had to get through it. I turned my laptop toward me. "Which song?"

There was a pause. "'Lady in Red'" I heard a tremor in her voice. She feared my getting through the dance. If I got through this, I would win. She would forget about loving me.

I punched it up and turned up the volume so the sounds filled the room. I turned toward her, determined to end this.

I took her hand and pulled her toward me. It was every thing I could do not to give the telltale intake of breath as her hand slid up my arm to my shoulder.

I started the dance. Her costume floated around her as she danced. My costume forced me to either hold her way too close, or turn my head slightly to the side. I was reminded of the skit she came up with last time we danced. Perhaps the persona of Trowa the clown would protect me from her? But there was no audience. I couldn't see myself; I could only see her.

I avoided her eyes as much as I could, but I still had to look at her to dance with her. No place was good: lips, chin, neck, chest--every place was a spot I wanted to touch. 

Mostly, I remember the feel of her during that dance: Her hands gliding over me as I turned her. Her eyes caressing me, because she wasn't trying to hold back. She gave in to the very thing I refused to let myself do. It wasn't the admiring look of the adoring fan I'd come to know, it was love. Complete, open, and honest.

I was in agony. I had to get through this dance, but part of me wanted to dance with her forever. To be looked at like that forever. I wanted her. Her love. All of her.

I don't know how it happened.

But her lips felt just how I'd imagined them, smooth and warm like satin. I couldn't stop with just a light brush of lips. I had to have more. I pressed in until I could taste her. Feel the part between her lips and finally the sweet tip of her tongue. 

As I wrapped my arms around her, I marveled at how perfectly she fit against my tall frame. She smelled of flowers and she tasted of the sweet lemon water we served at rehearsal. I had to taste her, all of her. I moved my kiss to her jaw, then her neck then the soft skin behind her ear.

She moaned and whispered, "I love you."

And realization hit me. Reality swirled back around me like a storm. The music still played on my desk, I hadn't even made it through the song. I plucked her arms off me.

"It means nothing," I said in a husky voice. I placed her arms at her sides and turned to walk away from her.

"Why?" she asked.

"I'm a man, you're a beautiful woman. I want you, it's a normal reaction."

"Why do you deny your love? What is so bad about loving me? If it's about being my boss, I'll quit."

"You can't quit with out my consent. You signed a contract."

"Then consent! Love me," she pleaded.

"No," I said.

"But why?" she cried.

"Don't you know? Middie Une! Haven't you figured it out yet?" I snarled.

"Why do you keep using that name?" she asked.

I walked to my desk and tapped a few keys on the keyboard. I pulled up the playbill. The first circus playbill I was ever on, back during the Eve War. It was a picture of Cathy and me. I stared down at myself for a second, I'd been young, wide-eyed and stupid. I didn't look like my father then. I didn't have to shave. A baby-faced boy.

I swung the screen around so she could see it.

"Now do you get it, Middie Une?"

She walked toward the desk and looked at the screen. "But that's..."

"It's me." I told her bitterly.

"Noname?"

"Yes," I hissed.

"It all makes sense now."

"Good," I said.

"That's why you took me out of that shelter. I couldn't figure it out before. You must've recognized me!"

"You are mistaken, I didn't know who you were before you told me yesterday."

"Then why..."

This would do it. If I told her the truth, she'd hated me. "Quatre. That's why."

"You took me in because he asked you too?"

"I took you in because he bet me. He bet me I couldn't make a trapeze artist out of you."

She rocked back on her heels. I could almost see the image of me shattering in her eyes.

"If I won, he'd finance a new shuttle for the circus." I had her. She'd find herself safe from me and wiser after tonight. How would I find myself?

"And if he won?" Her voice sounded distant, small.

"If he won, I'd sign the contract the Panzinis wanted."

"But you signed that contract."

"The shuttle was more important. I got them to train you."

She almost fell into the chair behind her. Shock written clearly on her face. I'd gotten what I wanted. Now she would hate me. Now I wouldn't have to see her anymore than necessary, she would beg me for that transfer, and I would grant it. 

"I don't believe it. Not you..."

"Call Quatre then or would you like me to?"

"No." It was her turn to fix me with a deadly glare.

"Good. Now our feelings are mirror images. You dislike me as much as I dislike you, because if I'd have known it was you in that shelter, I'd have left you there to rot."

There was no emotion in her voice. "Why didn't you shoot me?"

I deliberately misunderstood her. "Because I'd rather not spend the rest of my life in jail."

"I mean then. Why didn't you kill me then, if you hated me so much?"

"I wanted to. I've wanted to go back to that moment and kill you many times."

"Why didn't you? Why did you leave me there? It was my right to die by the rules of war. I was a spy and you caught me. A quick clean death!"

I didn't know what to say to this.

"A death I wished for many times. You say you wanted to go back to that moment?" Her eyes seemed to burn holes through me. "Well, I wanted to go back too. When I found my father's body, I wanted to go back and die." She stood up and planted her hands hard on the desk with a bang. "Why didn't you kill me?"

I was stunned, and I still couldn't think what to say. She'd wanted to die! She'd hated me for not killing her!

"Why!" she shouted making the room echo.

"I don't know!" I spat. 

"You don't know." An ironic smile twisted the corner of her mouth. "Well, I died that day anyway. But you dug me up. You brought me back to life. You took me out of that shelter and breathed life back into me. You made me want to live again. But I understand now! I know why you did it! You dug me up to torture me!" She had power in that soft voice that rolled over me in waves. 

I said nothing.

A single sob choked free from her throat. But she controlled it and suppressed it with anger. She turned and headed for the door.

"Miss Une," I said. 

She spun around.

"I expect to see you at rehearsal tomorrow."

Anger flared in her eyes. "Oh yes--Mr. Bloom, your beloved contract and shuttle. I signed that contract and I assure you that I am a woman of my word. You will have your one season and your shuttle."

I nodded. "I'm glad we understand each other."

She stared at me, then shook her head. "You went from empty soldier to empty businessman. How fitting." She slammed the door as she left.

I was alone.

I looked around me and somehow the room seemed smaller without her in it. 

I should be happy now. I'd gotten what I wanted. Middie Une knew I hated her, she knew exactly where we stood. I'd wanted that. Now I had control back. Complete control.

But if I had control, how come my body was shaking? How come I could still taste her on my lips? Feel her slender form fitting perfectly against mine...hear her whispered love ring in my ear.

I looked at my desk, at the exact place she's put her hands in anger. I placed mine where hers had been. Then I realized what I was doing. 

I stepped back. As if she'd cursed me, I felt hollow, empty.

I sank down into my desk chair. I pulled my laptop toward me, I had work to do. 

Another master escape, but still no applause.

Cathy came to get me at ten. I'd seen that look on her face before.

"What did Missy tell you?" I asked.

"Nothing." Cathy leaned on the doorframe. "But she was very upset."

I said nothing.

"She moved out, if you care."

"Where?"

She raised her eyebrows at me. "So you do care."

"Where?" My voice didn't change.

"To the women's floor. One of the spare rooms." She folded her arms. "I'm not going to ask you what's going on, or try to tell you what to do, you'll do what ever you want to anyway."

"Thanks."

"Uh-huh," she said. She walked over to my desk and put something on it. It sounded metal. "Whatever you do, no matter how you frustrate me, you are my brother. I love you." She removed her hand and walked away.

"Thanks." I said again.

She paused at the door. "The way I see it, you need all the love you can get." Then she was gone.

On the desk, she'd left a small silver ring with a red garnet in it.

I don't usually remember my dreams. Even if I do remember then, I rarely think anything of them. But that night, I dreamed a different dream.

I was standing in a graveyard, looking at a new headstone. The name it bore was 'Middie Une'. So I dug into the ground, pulling at the earth with determination. It sunk away from me, as if someone was holding me back and I could only reach the earth one handful at a time. Still I dug. 

Finally, I came to the casket. I opened it. Inside was a small boy with hair hiding his face, a scarf around his neck and a cross necklace on his chest. He was sitting in the cockpit of a Leo, and he moved the controls with no emotion on his face. I had a stake and hammer in my hand, like the dream was a vampire horror movie and I was the hunter. I placed the stake on his chest and hammered and hammered and hammered. His face never changed, there was no blood. He closed his eyes and died, falling back into the casket that was a cockpit moments before.

I looked up at the headstone. Instead of a headstone, Missy sat there in her white Air costume. She smiled at me and reached down. She pulled me into her arms. We shared a kiss that woke me up and left me longing.

I'm sorry, Ms. Grimm, I must stop here. I'm afraid there are very few good stopping points left in this story. And I continue to have difficulty reliving these events. I don't envy you your task of sorting the real story out of my heart-felt memories. I will continue as soon as I feel up to it.

Yours truly,

T. T. Bloom

"I won't dance, how could I?  
I won't dance, merçi beacoup  
I know that music lead the way to romance  
So if I hold you in arms I won't dance" -Love's Labor's Lost -- A Musical


	7. Finale

To: Alisa Grimm, staff writer  
Colony House Books, Inc  
From: T. T. Bloom, Producer  
The Greatest Show in the Universe  
Date: February 24, A.C.213  
Re: Biography

Dear Ms. Grimm, yes I do realize that your deadline is coming soon. I apologize, but I just couldn't find it in me to write more yesterday. I will dedicate myself to finishing the story this time. Even if it means I must stay up all night.

As I promised my worried cast and crew, the show shaped up just fine and disaster was averted for another season as it always is. Saturday rehearsals went just fine, and we were all anticipating the Friends and Family show on Sunday.

Emotions were running high-eagerness, excitement and giddiness. This was especially true for the 'First of May' crowd. We had two new acts and four or five new clowns, not to mention a very excited new elephant.

Missy, when I did see her, did not share in the excitement of the other First of Mays. She was quiet and withdrawn. Despite my conviction, I still felt sorry I'd had to end it yesterday and ruin the fun of the weekend for her. But there was no help for it. I had to do it.

You'd think that something like that would hinder a performance, especially the finale skit. But if you did think that, I'd say you didn't know performers very well. The same thing that lets an extreme introvert become a ringmaster, helps two emotionally drained heart-broken lovers perform as if nothing happened. 'Trowa the Clown' is not me, just like 'Missy Panzini' is not her. 

Now to say the person behind the mask was unaffected by her, would be a lie. I'd thought that once things were settled between us, I'd be able to get back to my life. To once again have control over myself. Now that she was unreachable, I would no longer reach for her.

But I was wrong. She still had an effect on me. Whenever I saw her, which was much less now that she wasn't living in the same suite with us, I yearned to kiss her again. And not that stupid clown kiss that left my senses reeling every time I had to do it. A kiss like the one that we had shared when she'd insisted that we dance.

I dreamt of her. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the press of her lips. I could taste her. But I told myself it would fade. And I almost believed myself. 

If I had to pick the top worst days of my life, that Saturday would definitely make the top ten. But Sunday my friends would arrive, there would be laughter, children and good times. Enough to keep my mind off of Missy. I was sure it would help.

Cathy and I planned to get up early that Sunday to meet Quatre and his entourage at the spaceport, which was two hours away, however I was up even earlier. I slept very poorly, and when I did sleep, I dreamt of a beautiful white temptress who begged me to love her.

I went out to the common room but that didn't help. The kitchen was full of memories. Memories of how she cooked and of how the place smelled and sounded with her there. The slight smile she wore as she worked. How I would get up early because I couldn't wait to talk with her, help her, make her laugh.

With a grin, I remembered how she'd bat my hands away from pastries, telling me to wait for Cathy. I'd get them anyway when her back was turned and she'd act disgusted with me.

"No matter how much you stare or smile at it, that coffee pot is not going to turn itself on," Cathy said from behind me. She reached past and pulled out the filter holder, and went to dump it out. "Nor is it going to turn into her."

"Who?"

She glared at me.

"Sorry," I said.

She shrugged, "Well, I don't miss her at all. She overcooked the eggs, had boring conversation, and she has a really annoying laugh--not to mention..."

Cathy played me like a master. I went from ice-cold to red-hot. "She does not have an annoying laugh! And she cooked eggs just fine, I've never seen you cook breakfast! And what's wrong with her conversation?"

She suppressed a smile for a moment or two, then burst out laughing. 

She got me.

"Oh hell, Trowa, you've got it so bad! Why can't you see it?"

"See what?"

"You're in love. I don't know what this fight is about, neither of you are talking, but I know one thing. You both love each other. Don't you realize how rare that is?" She slammed the pot in place and flicked the coffee maker on.

I said nothing.

She shook her head. "Nothing is worth this agony you two are putting yourselves through."

There was nothing to say. I couldn't explain it to her, because she wouldn't understand. I wasn't sure if I understood it anymore myself. But Missy hated me now and there was no going back.

She looked at me and sighed, changing the subject. "So who's all coming this time?"

"Quatre and all of his children..."

"All sixteen?"

I nodded. "And Heero and his sons."

She smiled happily. "It'll be nice to see him and the boys again."

Heero Yuy, as most people know, is the current Minister of Defense. Cathy and I had become close to his three sons when we watched them for three or four months a few years ago. He complains to this day that we made clowns out of all three of them.

Between Quatre, his family and his servants; and Heero, his family and his bodyguards, I have to book a whole section of seats for the Friends and Family show. And, you'd think I was hosting a summit with the motorcade Heero came with, and Quatre too for that matter.

It still is a strange picture for me. Looking at the most deadly man I've ever known and seeing him and his three sons surrounded by bodyguards. He just smiles and says it comes with the job.

His job and his sons are very important to him, but he's living in the shadow of a great woman. Relena Peacecraft died young, of cancer. The real world cannot tolerate good people for very long it seems. Her eldest son was only six when it happened. She left Heero with a family, and a half completed dream of hers to fulfill. He lived to do it. He's never said it, but I think it's what helped him survive.

Cathy and I were there for him when she died. That was the reason we had the boys here at the circus for nearly half a season. They've never missed a chance to see the show since, and whenever public office lets him, Heero comes too. 

But there was something more--and it gave me a chance to turn the tables on Cathy.

"Yes, it will be nice to see them again, and so nice that Heero could get away from...what summit was it?" I asked.

"Colony Police and Preventers on L2."

"Oh, yes." I hid half a smile. "So which school did he send Thomas too anyway?" Thomas was Heero's eldest son.

"Well, he was at St. Gabriel's until the end of September until the Peacecraft Academy opened in the Sank Kingdom."

"Right. He must be...what? Nine or Ten?"

"He just turned eleven last month." She poured herself some coffee. "Honestly Trowa, don't you listen when I tell you these things?"

I shrugged but her answers told me everything, her intimate knowledge of the smallest details of Heero's and the boys' lives. You see, there was one more reason Heero was still such a close friend: Cathy was waiting for him.

We got to the spaceport with nearly an hour to spare. Already an advance party of several of Quatre's servants had arrived and were making arrangements to keep the path clear for him. Reporters were already camped out, and we were glad the servants were there to escort us into the waiting area. We passed reporters making the same speeches they always did when we made public appearances together.

"Quatre Winner, the multi-trillionaire leader of the Winner family is due in town today for his annual trip to see the Greatest Show in the Universe. Mr. Winner is one of the few people allowed to see the exclusive Friends and Family show before the circus' season. As you can see behind me, the circus' producer and friend of Mr. Winner is just arriving. Mr. Trowa Bloom. Mr. Bloom, could we have a few words?"

I walked the path that the servants and bodyguards kept clear. But my public mask was on in full. "Can't talk now, but thank you."

"Mr. Bloom, will Mr. Winner be staying a few days..."

"Mr. Bloom is it true that you and Mr. Winner fought together..."

"Mr. Bloom, why is the circus sponsored by the Winners..."

The servants had trouble holding them back, and it was difficult for Cathy and I to get to the door. I tried to appease them, with the standard rhetoric. "We are just glad he's come to see the show. It's going to be the best show the circus has ever done, our first public performance will be..."

"Mr. Bloom, is it true that the Minster of Defense will also be attending today?"

Damn, how'd they find that out?

"Miss Bloom, is it true you are currently dating the Minister?"

Cathy was embarrassed but only I could tell. She had her public face on too. She smiled and denied that there was a relationship and I pulled her through the doors saying, "No more questions."

"Vultures." I mumbled as we enter the waiting room.

"What makes them think I was dating Heero?"

"Maybe all the times he attends the show?"

"Yes but he's your friend."

"Our friend. Don't worry about it. They're just guessing anyway. Don't they have two other women they guess about too?"

"Yeah, you're right. They think maybe his secretary or one of the teachers at the Peacecraft Academy. I swear, poor Heero has one parent-teacher conference and the tabloids declare him in love!"

I nodded. But I also knew she'd bought that tabloid and read it carefully for real evidence. Then smiled for the rest of the day when she found none.

Quatre and his fourteen daughters arrived right on time. I was immediately swarmed with eager little girls trying to all hug their 'Uncle Trowa' at once. All but two of his daughters were dark brunettes. Dorothy was the only blonde he married, and the only non-Arabian.

I looked around for his two sons, whom he had said he was bringing. "Where are the boys?"

Quatre smiled. "Their mother can't do without them. Right now, I imagine they're falling all over themselves trying to appease the whims of a pregnant woman."

I grinned and tried to carefully remove the three-year-old attached to my leg.

"Who's pregnant?" Cathy asked.

I looked at Cathy and smirked. "Now who wasn't listening?" I went back to trying to remove the three-year-old. 

"Dorothy is," Quatre answered.

Cathy's eyes opened wide in shock. "But who? How?"

Quatre laughed, clearly enjoying the moment. "I'm irresistible, don't you know."

Cathy glared at me, "You never told me that Trowa! You never tell me anything!"

A servant stepped up to help me with the three-year-old, who started a tirade of 'No's. She was just building up to a high volume, when Quatre intervened.

"Maiza!" he said, disapproval sharp in his tone. The little girl quieted with a squeak, and looked so forlorn that to her delight he scooped her up and carried her out to the waiting vehicles.

The other girls were better behaved, all eager to please their father and wary of upsetting him. Funny thing is, I know he wasn't a physical disciplinarian. When asked, he'd tell you that controlling children was a strategy game, and as we all knew, he was a master of strategy games. Besides, his father had 29 daughters, so his main example of being a father was one to daughters.

The girls were placed in three other vehicles, so that the three of us could talk on during the two-hour ride. The paparazzi did attack us on the way out, but Quatre side-stepped them effortlessly.

Cathy pumped Quatre for information on Dorothy, and wanted to know why she wasn't told last time he visited. 

"I was more concerned about Missy then," he told her. "By the way, how is she?"

Cathy looked at me. I gave her the please-don't-embarrass-me look. She looked back at Quatre. "She's a full trapeze artist now."

Quatre looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

I looked at Cathy and back at him. I shook my head.

He got the message--don't tell Cathy what I told you on the phone. "So is she still doing menial tasks for you two?"

Cathy laughed. "You mean making breakfast? No, she moved out after Someone pissed her off."

"Cathy..." I said with a warning note in my voice.

Quatre looked concerned. "Missy is upset? What happened?"

"I don't know. It happened just the other day and neither one will tell me." Cathy glared back at me.

"Missy and?" Quatre feigned ignorance for my benefit.

"Trowa, of course!" Cathy exclaimed. "Right after Missy remembered her past..."

"She remembered? Oh that's good news!" exclaimed Quatre.

I sunk into my seat.

Cathy glared at me. "You told me you called him."

"Er...well..." I started.

"Don't bother." She turned to Quatre. "He's so in love with her, he's being stupid. He did tell you that, didn't he?"

Quatre doesn't lie. "Well, if he did, it was in confidence..."

He didn't say 'no' which means 'yes' to Cathy. "He did? He admitted it to someone?" Cathy asked.

I groaned and put my head in my hands. 

Silence fell for a few moments, until Cathy realized no one was going to answer her question. "Well they had a big fight on Friday night, and she moved out. He's been moping ever since, and she won't talk to anyone!"

"What was the fight about?" Quatre asked.

I didn't look up from my hands. "Nothing that either of you can help or fix or get involved with." I looked up at them--both looked like I'd slapped them. I appealed to their emotions. "And I'm really not ready to talk about it yet."

"Oh sure, Trowa, don't feel pressured." Quatre looked at Cathy.

"Oh yes, I just want to see you happy." Cathy had that 'I'll wait, for now' look on her face.

We were silent for a minute or so, then conversation turned to other topics. But each of them kept looking at me, as if they expected me to pour out my heart any second. I was less than comfortable. Quatre knew more than Cathy did, and I knew I'd have to tell him sooner or later. I'd put it off as long as possible.

We got back to the Winter Quarters by lunchtime. We weren't expecting Heero until about a half-hour before the 7 pm performance, so we had a pleasant meal up in the conference room., which I planned ahead of time. The cafeteria was getting crowded with more friends and family showing up. The cafeteria crew required guests to be signed in at least two days before or else they'd end up feeding an entire audience. Many of the local restaurants were completely booked as well. We had a large catered party planned for after the show, and both Heero and Quatre would stay for that. 

After lunch we whiled away the time with children, games and conversation. Dinner was served, but neither Cathy nor I ate much. 

Both Cathy and I started feeling that anticipatory feeling you get right before a performance. Where you keep looking at the clock and both hoping that the time will get here soon and hoping that it will slow down just a little. I don't know how to describe it. A lot of people say it's stage fright, the way it makes your insides ache a little and food not sit well in your stomach. But if it's stage fright, then why does it come with so much energy that you have to do something? And why do you smile so much? No, that feeling is why we do this--because it really is the best feeling in the whole universe.

The only thing that ruined it for me is that Missy was off alone somewhere feeling it alone, probably scared and not know what it is. I'd invited her to this dinner at the beginning of the week, but she didn't come. I wasn't surprised, but still, I always thought I'd be there for her on her first time. I felt more like I'd deserted her than ever. I forced myself to remember who she was, and to shake the guilty feeling.

Cathy and I left at six o'clock to go get ready, and we found the dressing rooms a buzz. Everyone was excited and nervous. Costumes were put on with lightning speed, so was make-up. My hair is never so easy to style for any other show. And our preparations are often so quickly done, that we find ourselves waiting around for at least twenty minutes. And should anyone come in late, they are pounced and dressed and made up so fast they don't realize it's happened. Everybody prefers to be doing something with their energy rather than just letting it eat a hole in their stomach.

Missy was there before I got into what serves as our green room. She was with the Panzinis and she was clutching the blood out of Maria Panzini's hand. Mrs. Panzini was rubbing her back as all the Panzinis listened to Mister Panzini's last minute speech.

I wanted to go to her, to wish her good luck. But I doubted that she wanted to see me now. Now that I'd burnt that bridge. Now that I was the cold unfeeling businessman to her.

"He's here," said Cathy, coming up behind me.

"Who?"

She rolled her eyes. "Heero, of course."

"Oh, right."

I looked out the main entryway and saw him, his sons and his bodyguards safely in place. Already the clowns were out doing the pre-show entertainment. The band was tuning their instruments, and I could see the shadow of Mr. Fouhy ranting and raving up in the sound booth. Thank goodness I was a performer as well as a producer, or I'd have to be up there listening to him.

It was way too late for him to do anything now. But there was no telling him that.

I felt a tap on the shoulder, and I turned to see Megan the lead dancer. "It's time Mr. Bloom."

I nodded. "Circle up everyone."

The word was whispered around and the cast and crew quickly came together in the center of the room. Everyone started holding hands or touching someone's side, or back, or arm. It didn't matter, so long as we all touched. 

When we'd all gathered together, the group quieted down to listen to my speech. The opening speech is a producer tradition, and I hate speeches so I plan it to death. But this one is very important to do. We need it. I cleared my throat. "We've got about ten minutes until our first show of the season." 

A little ripple of anticipation passed through the circle. 

"I have to tell you, I can't wait. We've all worked harder and come together much more swiftly than any other show we've put on. The new acts we brought in this year were just what we needed to take a great show from last season and make it the best the Universe has ever seen." 

There was a murmur of agreement and smiles darted here and there.

"We are about to perform for our favorite and most loved audience--our friends and family. Because we love them, we let them see it first and It! Will! Be! Magnificent! Now some people here may be a little nervous... "

That got a few nods and smiles.

"Especially you first timers, the First of Mays. I want each and every one of you old timers to think back on your first time and remember how you felt. Then I want you to take that energy, that excitement and send it to our new ones now. Give them all the good wishes, energy and encouragement you can."

I let a long moment of silence pass. In the circle, I held Cathy's hand and Megan's hand. Down the line, Missy held Paul's hand, who held Anna's hand, who held Megan's hand. But somehow I could feel the energy surge through the link between Missy and I. I pictured it all going to her, because she needed it. Others did the same for other new people, it's an indescribable feeling.

"Now..." I said, then started our chant. "Make 'em smile, Make 'em laugh, do it safe..."

The chant was continued in low voices throughout the group.

"Make 'em smile, Make 'em laugh, do it safe..."

People smiled at each other and squeezed each others' hands. Behind us the band struck up the opening song, nice and loud so no one could hear us. Our chant increased in volume.

"Make 'em smile, Make 'em laugh, do it safe!"

"And now!" I encouraged.

"May all your days be circus days!" the group shouted.

"Ready!" I shouted.

"Break!" we shouted, and everyone ran for his or her place in the opening parade.

I wish I could give you a play by play of that particular show, but I've done five opening shows since then, and all the thousands and thousands of shows during the season in between. But the audience always jumps and cheers so incredibly loudly at the family show. The energy is so high, it makes the hair all over your body tingle. Everything is bigger, happier, funnier. 

Applause is the best drug for nerves. And it is such a huge rush, you want it to last forever. It starts with that first laugh and carries you to the end on a tidal wave. I wish I could tell you in a way so you'd understand. But words can't make it. They just can't. Not until you've lived it.

If you've lived it and you read my poor words about it, you'll feel just a touch of it yourself. Maybe that flame at the base of your torso will light just a little and you'll find yourself wishing you were there. Wishing you were riding high on applause, laughter and cheers. And you'll understand why we do this. Why we pack up our lives into a suitcase and lug it place-to-place, just to stick our heads in a lion's mouth, or risk our neck on a high wire. Then get up the next morning and do it all over again.

You might be tempted to run away and join us.

And if you shake your head, and say to yourself "I could never do that" then you never will. But don't worry. I've got a place for you. Front row center. Bring your laughter, your ohs and ahs, and your applause, because the circus could never exist without you. And neither could I.

But, even though I can't give you a play by play, I do remember the highlights. My sister came way too close to hitting me with those knives as she always does when she get excited. But the audience was in the palm of our hands with the whole high wire knife chase. It was the most successful act we did that season. Toward the end of it, I caught her breaking character a little to smile. It's difficult not to when people are laughing hard beneath you.

She and I ran out of the rings on an incredible high.

"Yes!" Cathy skipped and spun in a circle.

I grinned. I couldn't help it. Like I said, I'm a different person when performing. Everybody is.

"They loved it!" I said.

"Loved it? They were rolling in the aisles! That's the best reaction I've ever gotten even in a family show." Cathy grabbed a water bottle.

Several people came over to congratulate us. Including the boss clown.

"You want us to follow that act?" he asked me. "I'm gonna start packing now, okay?" He clapped me on my back.

"Hey, nothing beats a clown car, besides, we warmed them up for you." I grabbed his shoulders. "Go get them." I pushed him away.

"I'm goin' I'm goin'" he said.

I turned back to Cathy. She was being hugged by a dancer--no, it was Missy! I froze.

"Oh Cathy it was so great! I laughed and laughed!"

Cathy laughed and grabbed Missy's arms and swung her. "Thanks Missy, but it was all Trowa's idea." She swung Missy toward me.

Face to face, her smile fell when she saw me.

"Uh...it was great." She looked off to the side, only her eyes darting to my face a few times.

"Thanks, Missy," I said. Not knowing what else to say our first time talking since--then.

"Sure." Then she fled back to the Panzinis.

I watched her.

Cathy sighed. "Well, her feelings haven't changed. I hope you can work this out."

I heard her words through a fog. "Sure." 

Cathy left me standing there.

I watched Missy's performance. All of it. This time there wasn't even a wobble in the handstand. Her stunt got gasps and applause. Her white costume worked perfectly, the long streaming scarves made her look like a flying angel, and her soft halo of blond hair made the image complete. 

I can't begin to describe how proud of her I was as she and the Panzinis took their bows to thunderous applause. She seemed to stand taller. Her smile was bigger, and in her carriage a difference which can only be called confidence. She was one of us now and she finally believed it. It was everything I wanted to give her.

There was no time for hugs when they came off, we had to get to the finale parade. She ran past me so quickly I don't think she realized I was there. Since I got to run on late, I was able to stand by and watch the whole parade walk out past me. We were one beautiful bunch of happy, sparkling, high performers. Even the elephants seemed to skip to the music.

On my entrance, I hit the trampoline so hard I was able to execute my complete triple flip turn I've been doing since I was a kid. It's almost my calling card. When I landed on Friendly, I had to really fake an off-balance clown landing.

Missy looked at me for half-a-heartbeat stunned. I don't think I've ever done that flip for her. But she didn't stay stunned, and began to play her part. Shooing and swatting at me.

We did our bit with the flower, which got a few laughs. Then I did my clown handstand. The knap when I fell came out loud and clear. People love it when it looks like you hurt yourself.

Then it was her turn. She took my shoulders to set me down to watch. The energy coming from her lanced me like electricity, and I thought I was going to fall off the elephant. I guess the circle chant worked.

As she stepped back, she looked puzzled. She went through the teacher motions and I responded with the dutiful student pose. Then she tried the handstand, but Friendly bounced a bit and she was forced to hand walk in place to keep from falling.

I gasped. Should I reach for her? What if she fell? It was a long way down.

"I have it," she hissed. "Don't break character!" All I could see was the back of her head, but she looked stable. I went on with the skit but my heart was pounding. I didn't like the idea of her falling. There was no net here. 

The rest of the skit went smoothly. The audience loved the part were the elephant captures me and I get tickled. Especially the little kids.

And you can hear the kids too. They say things like "Look he's getting tickled!" "Did you see the elephant grab him, Daddy?" and so on. Usually in a high pitched voice with gales of giggles.

Cathy and Ringleader finished up the closing song, and the show finished in a wave of triumphantly lifted arms, and trunks. Our friends and families jumped to their feet and cheered and cheered. We brought Fouhy out to take a bow--he looked considerably more relaxed. Now that it was over.

The ringmaster announced that the rings would be open for everyone to come down and meet with their performers once all the animals were removed. So in no time, I was once again mobbed by fourteen squealing and laughing Winner girls. Just try to hug that many girls at once. Just try.

Quatre had to help me get out. But they jumped around me asking a million questions at once. I saw that Cathy also had her arms full, but of course she had the Yuy boys. Ah, youth, and their crushes.

I pointed her out to Quatre when Heero gave her a quick hug too. Nothing more or less than a friend would give, and if it weren't for the look on their faces, you might have thought it was completely innocent.

Cathy's happiness is as important to me and mine is to her. No wonder we got nothing accomplished. 

"But there's Missy!" cried Quatre. He stepped behind me to go over and hug her. 

I tried not to watch, instead I moved forward to greet Heero. We shook hands.

"Heero," I said, "Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it." He still never minced words. Well neither did I really. Only when the job demanded it. Heero and I still had that much in common.

"Oh Trowa!" cried Cathy. "Look at these boys! Look how they've grown."

Thomas Darlian Yuy was blond like his mother, but the younger two were miniature versions of their father. Taro was the middle son and René was the youngest. Thomas shook my hand like his father, but the two youngest refused to let go of Cathy for anything so mundane as a handshake. I tousled their hair in retribution. 

We all talked for several minutes. Well, the children talked, and we tried to answer all their questions. Giving small tours of the rings, and explaining stuff like how the motorcycle stays on the wire. Why I don't fall off the pole, and how Cathy always misses me with the knives. 

It was a happy time, surrounded by the children of our friends. Our greatest fans. But I was distracted by Quatre and Missy talking off to the side. What could they have to say to each other?

Around us the preparations for the party began. The ring sections were removed and placed by the walls. Tables appeared and the caterers arrived with hors d'oeuvres. I had to step away to talk with the hired planner. We decided to set the DJ up in the sound booth. 

After about twenty minutes, I finally got a chance to go shower and change. There's nothing so nice as removing a hot costume at the end of a successful performance--and for me, as well as many mostly female performers, getting to let my hair down. 

I didn't have time to dry my hair and pull it back, so I just stuffed some bands into my pocket. My hair looks odd just left free. The sides and back are short, but the top and front are very long. It hangs around my head like a curtain, down past my shoulders. The cut is designed for the large clownish uni-bang though so the hair in back curves up like a smile. I tucked it behind my ears, just to keep it out of my face. 

When I got back to the arena, the party was just getting off the ground. Cathy was the brave one already on the dance floor. She was taking turns dancing with Thomas and Taro, but René was making it difficult by jumping in between. It looked more like a game. 

Quatre was giving instructions to the servants taking his youngest girls back to the hotel. His four eldest would be staying for a while to play with the circus children. In fact, I think one of them was already dancing with Chris Panzini. The circus has quite a few children who call it home. It would be impossible to hire performers for a traveling circus without making accommodations for children. We hire a teacher to travel with us and there always is a school car in the trains we own. As for the Colony circus, our poor teacher must make do with hotel conference rooms.

Heero was standing off to the side watching Cathy and his sons. He looked in the mood for a quiet conversation, so I headed toward him. I grabbed a couple of beers on the way over.

I handed one to him.

"A beer?" he asked.

"Well we aren't the formal dinners you're used to, but I might be able to find some wine in a box somewhere..."

"No, this is fine. I don't get much chance to drink them anyway."

"You should hang out with the little people more often then." I was scanning the room, without realizing it. I finally spotted Missy near the door. She was still in costume, and it looked like she was meeting Anna's mother. I must have been staring. 

"So it's true," Heero said.

"What?" I asked.

"Quatre told me you were in love with that woman." Heero opened his beer.

"Can we really love the enemy?" I asked. He wouldn't understand what I was really asking of course. But somehow, his answer fit anyway.

"Oh yes," he said in a whisper I barely caught, "That's what peace is about."

"Quatre told you? I'm surprised." I thought Cathy would tell him.

"Don't be upset with Quatre, he had a reason for telling me."

"What great plot is he up to now?" I looked at Heero.

"It's simple. Now you don't need her anymore..." Heero was looking at Cathy.

I looked back and forth between them. "You mean to say that's why you've been holding back?"

He looked at me, there was a slight pain in his eyes. "I couldn't take away a man's only family. People like us soldiers...need family."

I said nothing.

He looked back at her. "My sons need a mother. And I think Relena would approve."

I put on my brotherly mask. "No, I just can't let you, Heero." 

"What? Why?"

"I'm not letting my sister go just because some guy wants a mother for his kids. You're going to have to do better than that."

He doesn't like to share his emotions any more than I do. He was silent for a few moments. "I need her," he told me. "I've been thinking about her all year and I..."

"Good," I said cutting him off. "That's all you had to say. Her happiness is important to me."

"I'll make her happy."

"You'd better." I looked at my sister. "I have to warn you about something though. We have a saying that's been in the performance business for centuries. It changes depending on venue, but it's still true. 'You can take the performer out of the circus, but you can never take the circus out of the performer'." I looked back at him.

"What are you saying?" he asked.

"I'm saying the chances are good that she'll come back. Cathy has been in the circus all her life. I've seen it before. When born performers try to be something else. They end up coming back. And she may even bring some of your children with her."

He smiled. "You really will make clowns out of them." Then he grew serious. "I'd never ask her to give up her life, just to share it with me. Everyone knows I have very little free time in this job anyway. I'd just like a place to go home to with someone waiting for me again."

"Even if it's a circus train?"

"Even if."

"Well, then, you'd better go dance with her, before she starts thinking all Yuy men tread on their partner's feet."

Across the floor, Taro was just apologizing for that very offense. Heero handed me his beer and walked over.

I looked for Missy, but she'd gotten away from Anna. I assumed she'd gone to change too.

"Oh Trowa! It's not that bad! You don't have to resort to alcohol!" Quatre came up to me, smiling. "Look at this! Two-fisted drinking!"

I smiled, "It's Heero's."

"Sure, it is. You shouldn't worry, I fixed everything."

Warning bells went off. "What do you mean?"

"I just had a pleasant conversation with Missy."

"And?"

"And she was laboring under the misconception that you were only helping her for a shuttle!"

"What did you tell her?"

"Merely the truth, that I donate a shuttle or the equivalent to the circus every year and that you and I both knew the bet thing was a joke."

"But Quatre..."

"And you even said there was nothing I could do to help! Are you putting up obstacles again?"

"That's not really the truth, I did take her in on a bet."

"Did you believe your success with her would really dictate whether or not I'd donate as usual to the circus?"

I looked at him for a heartbeat. "Not for one second."

He smiled.

"I was pretty sure in fact if I failed, I'd have to enforce your side of the bet myself."

"I'd go around you," he said.

"Yeah I know."

"So why did you let her be angry with you about it?" he asked.

I grimaced. How to explain this? "Because I wanted her to be angry."

"I don't follow you."

"When she remembered, we found out we knew each other as kids."

His eyes widened. "You did? What are the chances of that?"

"Just wait, there's more. She was a spy for the Alliance, and I was part of the rebel group she wiped out. The only survivor in fact."

He shook his head in wonder. "How old were you?"

"Around ten."

"Young."

"She taught me how to hate."

He nodded. "And how to love, pretty talented teacher. Only question is: which is stronger?"

"Hate is. I thought if she was angry, we'd be more comfortable."

"Ah, well, I helped with that. I'm sure of it. You will still be comfortable even though she's not angry," he said. 

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I asked her what she was going to do, now that she knew the truth about the shuttle." He paused to take a sip of the soda he was holding. 

He was going to make me draw this out of him. I gritted my teeth, and gave in. "What did she say?"

"She said you had a right to say no, and she shouldn't have pressed you for a reason. She said she wouldn't force you to come up with another reason to keep you two apart."

I nodded. "Good."

He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Has she changed? I mean when she remembered she was your enemy as a little girl, did those memories change her."

I thought about it. "No, not really."

"So what you hate isn't her now, but her then."

"But they're the same person."

"Are you the same person you were then?"

"No I..." It was like a light going off in my head. Then with wonder, the reality of it occurred to me. "I try very hard not to be..." 

So hard that the least little reminder of Noname upset me. It made me angry. Now my anger at Missy made sense. Middie had come to represent everything that was evil in me. She was a reflection of myself when I was a nameless soldier and a pitiless killer. What I hated about Middie was not really her past actions, but the mirror of myself her existence showed. I hated who I was when I was Noname, therefore I hated Middie. It was not rational. I saw that now.

I had tortured her. I wanted so desperately to forget Noname, to forget my past. So much so, that when the woman I loved became a reminder of it--I pushed her away.

But she was just like me. She had a past she ran from all her life, only embracing it when she realized she couldn't love me without it. 

And I loved her for it. My heart swelled in my chest and ached. I had to see her.

Quatre knew me so well. He stood by and quietly watched me come to this epiphany.

"I have to talk to her," I told him.

He smiled. "Yes you do."

"Here," I said and distracted shoved the two beers into his hands. He juggled them and watched me walk away. 

I heard one of his daughters come up to him behind me.

"Daddy! You're drinking alcohol!"

"But they're not mine!" he sputtered. 

Missy wasn't at the party. I looked for her. I asked. No one had seen her since she went to change clothes. I went to the women's locker room. I grabbed the first woman to emerge, who told me she'd left just a few minutes ago.

But why didn't I meet her going to the party as I left? Maybe she'd gone back to her room for something? I sprinted to the dormitory. She was on the women's floor now, though I tried not to, I'd found out the room number the day she'd moved.

I stood before her door, and I knew she was in there. All the Missy-sensitive nerves in my body were firing. I froze and let the pounding in my head subside. I knocked.

"One minute!" she called and my heart flipped at the sound of her voice.

She looked surprised to see me. "Trowa?" she said as she opened the door and paused. She wore shorts and a long t-shirt, obviously not going to the dance. My eyes drifted, unbidden over her form.

I opened my mouth, but no words came.

"Look, I'm sorry about the finale. I know it looked bad, I'll do better next time. Is that what you wanted?" She looked distressed.

"No," I said. My voice worked!

"Oh then it must be about Quatre and the shuttle."

I froze again.

"Listen, you...you don't need to come up with another excuse. I won't throw myself at you again and force you to push me away, if that's what's worrying you. We'll be just like any other two performers. I promise..."

"No," I said, "No that's not it. Please listen."

She closed her mouth and looked at me.

"It's not you," I told her. 

"Not me?" she asked.

"Before I found out who you were, when you were just Missy...I...well I..."

"Loved me?" she prompted.

It was easier to admit to when she said it. 

"Yes," I whispered. 

"You don't have to tell me this. I know. I know that you hate who I was, and what I did. I'd like to apologize to you, but it wouldn't be true. I loved my family. I did what I had to do." She looked tired like she'd given up and really wasn't interested anymore. How was I going to fix this?

"I don't hate you Missy. I hate my past. I hated who I was." I pushed my hair out of my face. "God, this isn't coming out right...Your only sin was just reminding me of him, of Noname."

"But you're Noname." She looked puzzled.

"Yes, I know. But I didn't want to be. I wanted to forget him, forget my past. And I took it out on you. Missy, please forgive me. I'm so sorry."

"You were running from your past?"

"Yes," I breathed.

"And now?"

What could I say? A thousand things? A million things came to mind and they all wanted to be announced first.

"Don't I still remind you of Noname?" She leaned against the doorframe.

"You do, but..." I wracked my brain for the words. The words that would fix everything. "I need your help."

She looked at me hesitantly, as if afraid I would break her heart again. "My help?"

"I need you to show me how you did it. How you got over your past. What you said the other day--you have as many good memories as bad. I want that too. Help me."

"Trowa," she whispered, there was pain in her eyes.

My courage failed me. I wanted her to just throw herself at me, so I didn't have to risk it. But she said she wouldn't. I had to do it. "Just say we can be friends again. Just give me that much."

She stepped back. "No, don't ask that of me. We cannot be friends. I won't be tortured again."

I couldn't escape my feelings at her words. My heart missed the bar and fell to the circus floor. No net. "Oh, of course." It was what I deserved. I'd treated her so badly. I'd used her.

I really had dug her up from her chosen grave. Forced her to remember. Then crushed her. Of course she couldn't trust me. 

My body didn't want to believe it was over. I started forward reaching out to her, but she jumped further back from me.

I stopped. I looked down. My hair fell down to cover my face once more. "I'm sorry," I told her.

"Just go," she whispered.

I turned and headed down the hall. There was nothing more to say. I heard her door click closed behind me. It sounded like a jail cell slamming. I leaned against the hallway wall for support. Shock filled me. 

I didn't know what to do. I wanted to scream, to howl like a beast, to hit something.

And I hated myself. Not just Noname, but all of me. I hated the Trowa who couldn't overcome his past. Who let Noname destroy something again. I was the one who belonged in Quatre's shelter now. I was the one left empty by the war. 

It was me.

I felt a hand on my back. I stiffened, unable to move.

"Trowa," Missy whispered. Her hands slipped around me from behind until her arms encircled me. "I know I said I wouldn't throw myself at you again, but I can't help it." Her body pressed into my back, I could feel every cell of it. Her cheek on my spine, her breasts pushed tight to my lower back. I sucked in a ragged breath.

Her voice vibrated through me as she spoke. "I can't be your friend, I just can't. Not with how I feel. How I love you. But you don't need an excuse to push me away. Just tell me no, and I'll never...but I can't be only your friend. I just can't...I..." She was crying.

I pulled her hand from my chest with both of mine. I turned it so I could look in the delicate inside of her palm. I kissed her there. She gasped.

I turned in her arms. The look in her eyes was enough to drive me insane. Love. Yearning. Wanting. She was perfect. I stood there and looked at her, as I wanted to. Claiming her with my eyes. The soft delicate curves of her face, the deep loving pull of her eye, the questing fullness of her mouth.

My own beautiful statue come to life. A gift of the gods. She was mine.

I stroked her cheek and watched with wonder as her eyes fluttered in response. She turned her face into my hand. She kissed my fingertips and it felt like little electric shocks were shooting up the nerves of my arm.

My hand slid behind her head and I tilted her mouth up to mine. When our lips met, it was like the end of the world. All the thoughts in my head silenced and focused on this one task. On the press of her lips, the sigh of air as she opened them for me, and the absolute wonder of exploring her mouth with mine.

Gone were any ideas of holding back and dating her or seeing if my emotions were true. They were true. Love is not a feeling a man can put to words very easily, but I knew I was happy. So incredibly happy. 

This is what I was looking for that day, as I stood over the body of the man who taught me to fight, looking at the girl who taught me to hate. I was looking for redemption. Looking for someone to teach me to love.

I've killed innumerable people during the war. More than any man, who wishes to remain sane, dares count. But I've only brought two back to life. Middie Une, and myself.

The rest of the story, as you know Ms. Grimm, gets me to where I am now. My wife and I have two beautiful boys, both it seems like trapeze better than clowning, but I'm convinced they'll outgrow it.

My sister married Heero and made him two homes. The first in a mansion, but that lasted only for the first four years. The second home was as I predicted. This season, she's back with her daughter Amanda and a very promising young clown in Heero's son René. Heero visits so often his bodyguards have become a nuisance.

Quatre, as the tabloids will tell you, never got Dorothy to come back to him. Instead, she allows him to visit. As a result, he spends way too much time on Earth. If not for his daughters, I think he'd abandon the colony all together. He remains a man torn between his family and his love. But I think he's better off than he was.

You might also be interested to know that Missy and I went back to St. Petersburg three years ago. We did some digging and found that her brother Alex survived the war. He lives there with his wife and four nearly grown children. Their reunion was a poignant and touching one. Alex knew nothing of the other two brothers, and we help him with the search now. We don't hold out much hope, but then Missy came back to life, so you never know.

Is this the part where I say 'and they lived happily ever after'? I think if I did, you wouldn't believe me. Life, for two people touched so deeply by war, can never be completely happy, but at least it is a burden we no longer have to run from, or carry alone.

I have to thank you, Ms. Grimm, for suggesting I undertake this enterprise. Although I was uncomfortable writing the difficult parts, I am pleased to have told this story in such detail. I never could've accomplished it in an interview with you, and this part of my life is very important to me.

I look forward to seeing the manuscript soon. Good luck on muddling through my amateur ramblings. If you have any questions or need clarification, please don't hesitate to ask.

Yours truly,

T. T. Bloom

_"There's no business like show business like no business I know!  
Everything about it is appealing   
Everything the traffic will allow  
Nowhere can you get that happy feeling  
When you are stealing an extra bow" - Annie get your Gun_

Ladies and Gentleman, children of all ages! In the center ring! The one and only Alisa Grimm herself! The wonderful editor of 'My Statue'--MidiiUne! The Greatest Show in the Universe is forever greatful!

This fan fiction is written for entertainment only, the author does not claim to own any part of Gundam Wing. Please do not distribute. Gundam Wing© Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency.


	8. Acknowledgements and Credits

Acknowledgements and Credits 

"My Statue" was definitely my most researched fan fiction story I have published to date. Many of my reviewers have expressed interest in the circus and the circus facts I have included in this story, so I feel compelled to acknowledge my sources. 

Books: 

_"The Circus at the Edge of the Earth: Travels with the Great Wallenda Circus"_

By Charles Wilkins ISBN: 0-7710-8847-7

Buy it! Read it! It's fabulous!

_"The Age of Fable"_

By Giovanni Caselli ISBN: 0-02-861475-5 

This was my reference for Pygmalion.

Webpages: 

http://www.ringling.com 

Specific pages used included: David Solove's, (the Boss Clown of the 130th Edition of The Greatest Show On Earth) Letters from the Road Diary. This daily diary covered two years of the circus specific to the 130th season. It is a must read, I was captivated by it. Unfortunately I believe it is no longer available. I have a copy of most of it, so if you want to read it-email me.

Other pages of note: Bello Nock is the star clown of the 131st season. He does in fact climb a sway pole and use a high wire motorcycle in that show (I did attend it when it came to town). He has fantastic clown hair-go check it out! Unfortunately, you cannot buy a Bello pen. I made that up.

Musicals: 

"My Fair Lady" is the main musical this story is based on and the one I was thinking of as I wrote it. This musical was based on the play "Pygmalion".

From "Oklahoma" comes the scene of dealing with gossip. I believe I had the song "People will say we're in love" in my head the whole time I wrote about gossip.

"Love's Labors Lost" is a Shakespearean play which Kenneth Brannah made into a musical movie by inserting forties music. One of the songs inserted was "I won't dance", a song about the idea of not being able to hold someone without making a romantic move on them.

"Camelot" has a song entitled "Before I gaze at you again" a song about wishing time and separation could help Gwenaivere to exist around Lancelot without wanting him. It fails miserably. 

"The Scarlet Pimpernel" is a very new musical with wonderful songs. It is about two people hiding their true identities from each other. The only problem is they are in love with the true identities of each other. They spend a great deal of time looking at each other and asking where is the person I once loved?

Finally "Annie get your Gun" is a musical about performance: a traveling variety show featuring the sharpshooter Annie Oakley. This musical deals with the difference between an on-stage persona and the real person underneath. 

Beta Reader: 

The true Alisa Grimm personified, was my good friend Midii Une, the owner of the Spy and the Silencer Website. 

Personal experiences: 

I am a performer in a sort-of circus: Ye Merrie Greenwood Renaissance Faire, where we do in fact have a traditional producer speech and chant before each performance. Since we are outside all the time, our chants deal with things we don't want to happen: "No Wind, No Rain, No temperatures over 80, no small stinging insects, no injured actors!" our chant ends with the monk's chant from Monty Python and The Holy Grail "Pie Iesu Domine. Dona eis Requiem". I decided to have the circus chant focus on things they wanted to have happen because I never liked the negativity of our chant. Also "May all your days be Circus Days" is the motto of The Barnum and Bailey Ringling Bro. Circus.

Thank you for reading the credits, you wonderful person you!


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